An Angel Gets His Wings
by Azureina
Summary: A spinoff of Charmed. Life has been demonlite for the Halliwells, but as Wyatt and Christopher Halliwell become young men, they learn more about their magical destiny. Episode 1.1 COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Charmed_. I'm just a fan who wrote this when her mind wandered to a possible spin-off starring Chris and Wyatt.

**Author's Notes:** The boys are Piper and Leo's only children. In my stories, there won't be an appearance by a younger daughter. Also, this is in story format but it came to mind as if it was an episode of the spin-off. So I will include songs, but it won't be written as a script.

**Episode One: An Angel Gets His Wings**

**Prologue**

"I said no, Wyatt!" Christopher Perry Halliwell shouted up the stairs towards the second floor of the Victorian manor his family lived in. He quickly turned on his heel and sprinted from the staircase to the kitchen, in an effort to beat his older brother to the set of keys to the car they shared. He burst through the door and was two feet from the hook all the household keys hung on when his older brother orbed in in front of him.

"Come on! Please!" Wyatt Matthew Halliwell whined, pouting his bottom lip as an extra reinforcement. "It's an emergency." The older brother crossed his arms in front of his chest and spread his legs shoulder-width apart, a stance intended to inform his younger brother he would have to forcibly move him to acquire the keys.

"What part of 'no' do you _not_ understand?" an exasperated Chris asked. His brother always had _emergencies_ when he already claimed the car. Sometimes, he suspected his brother made plans we he did just for sport. "And quit pouting. That may work on Mom, but I have no sympathy. I told you earlier this week I needed the car tonight to go to the library and study. Ask Dad to borrow his."

"Chris, I'm going on a date, not to some hippy-dippy protest," Wyatt explained, his hands moving furiously to punctuate his statement. "I can't be seen in Dad's car, let alone pick up a date in it. I might want to see this girl again. So, come on. Please?"

The younger brother smiled. Their father's car was a hunk of junk, to be honest. Even their mother didn't care to be seen in it. "Then borrow Mom's because the answer is still no." To prove his point, he held up his right hand, extending his pointer finger, and orbed the keys from their hook to his hand.

"No fair! Using magic!" Wyatt crossed his arms and stared at his little brother, hoping the intimidating look he usually reserved for the Underworld would cause his brother to fold.

"Uh, did you or did you not orb into the kitchen to beat me to keys?" Chris crossed his arms in front of his chest, meeting his brother's stare.

"Well, speaking of orbs, can't you just orb to the library?" Wyatt continued to stare at his brother, but another minute of this standoff told him he was going to lose. He sighed and threw his hand up in the air, admitting defeat. For tonight, anyway. "All right, all right. I'll ask Mom to borrow her car. But don't think I'm going to forget this because I'm not," he said, heading towards to the door to go find his mother. He stopped when he reached the doorway, though, and turned around, pointing a finger at his brother. "And the next time you have a date, the car is mine."

Chris smiled to himself. So many thought of his brother as calm, cool and collected. They had no idea he could be overdramatic when he wanted to be, which was pretty much every time he didn't get his way. "Fine. Whatever. But if I don't get to the library to study and pass physics, I won't be able to leave my room, much less date. Now, have fun, see you later, I'm outta here."

A swirl of bright white and pale blue lights materialized. When they dissipated, a thin woman with long, brown hair and wearing glasses appeared. She was dressed in black, with steel-tipped boots on her feet and her hand on her hip. Both young men stopped dead in their tracks with her appearance, a mixture of surprise and annoyance on their handsome features. "Hello, boys," she greeted them.

(Theme Song: "Savin' Me," Nickelback)


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Charmed_ or any of its characters. 

**Chapter One**

(Nighttime scenes of San Francisco - Song: "Dancing in the Moonlight," Rick Monroe)

"No! Absolutely not! No way!" The dark-haired, young man crossed his arms in a moment of defiance. This was it. He meant business this time. He understood destiny, but didn't destiny understand the importance of a college degree? One he certainly would never earn at this rate, if he kept blowing off his studies for every supernatural occurrence in the city of San Francisco.

Realizing he would not escape this task easily, he pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table, awaiting his instructions. The kitchen. His eyes did a brief scan around the room, taking it all in. It looked the same, as always. Granted a few potion disasters and several vanquishes had taken place there, but it was the same kitchen from his childhood. It was the same kitchen from the 1920s, actually, when his family first moved into the house they dubbed "The Manor." And all these generations later, despite the numerous opportunities to remodel, his mother kept it exactly the same. "Honoring their heritage," she replied one day many years ago when he asked her about it. Didn't they already do that, honor their heritage, every day they fought evil?

The taller, blonde young man stepped forward and pulled out a chair for himself, taking a seat at the table as well. He looked across the table at his brother, pity in his eyes. Pity not for his situation, but instead for his lame attempt to wriggle out of it. Everyone wanted to skip demon duty now and then, but whining was not the way to go about it. Their aunt was a reasonable woman. She spent many years trying to balance a social life with a supernatural one. Surely, she would respond to simple reasoning. He turned in his chair to face the spot she had orbed to, leaned back and crossed his arms. "See, what your slightly neurotic nephew is trying to say is, I have a date, he's got an exam to study for, and we just don't have time to vanquish demons right now."

Paige Matthews looked at her nephews with a mixture of anger and disappointment written on her face. She had been a formidable witch in her and her sisters' demon-fighting heydays, but was now a well-respected Whitelighter, keeping future Whitelighters on the path to good and guiding witches in their fight against evil. When she was first assigned her nephews as charges, she thought fighting evil together would enhance their relationship. What she didn't count on was the constant arguing and coercing she had to do in order to get them to agree to the tasks. Then again, it really shouldn't have been a surprise. They were just like their mother, Piper, constantly doing battle to have a "normal" life. It looked like this would be one more night of arguments and guilt trips. "Don't have time to vanquish demons right now? Don't have time to vanquish demons right now?!" She threw her arms up into the air in disgust. "Fine! I'll just tell the innocent 'sorry, my nephews just don't have time to save you right now.' I'm sure she'll understand."

"That is _so_ not fair!" Chris shouted, jumping out of his chair and knocking it over in the process. "I am about to fail Physics, okay. And if I fail, that's it; I'm out of school. I don't need the innocent guilt trip." The young man saw his aunt's unwavering look and sighed in defeat. He bent over, righted the chair, and sat back down. "You play dirty, you know that, right?"

Wyatt uncrossed his arms, letting them drop to his sides, and let out an exasperated sigh. His brother could be so dramatic! Although, he knew his brother had a good reason to overreact this time. He really did need to haul his butt to the library and bury his nose in a book. Resigning himself to the fact that he would be pulling demon duty alone tonight he asked, "Okay, what demon is it?"

"The Elders suspect it may be the Thorn Demon."

Wyatt placed his hands above the kitchen table, palms facing the ceiling and closed his eyes, orbing the Book of Shadows to him. He placed the ancient book of spells, which had been handed down in his family for many generations, on the table and using his power of telekinesis, held his hands over it and flipped through its pages. The flipping started to slow down and then stopped. The book was open to a page with 'Thorn Demon' written across the top in calligraphy. Below that was a picture of a head with thorns protruding from it and a few paragraphs on the nature of the demon. "He's here in the book," Wyatt said, and began to read aloud. "A lower-level demon who poisons its victims by spitting thorns at them." He rolled his eyes. "Figures. There's a vanquishing potion, and I have my powers as backup; nothing I can't handle on my own." He looked up at his brother. "You head off to the library; I got this."

Chris looked at his older brother in surprise. It wasn't everyday he got a free pass from a vanquish because Wyatt decided to go it alone. Besides, they were raised to work together on all things supernatural. "That hardly seems fair. Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Chris opened his mouth to protest, but Wyatt cut him off before he could get in a word. "Seriously, go study, because if we're ever going to be able to move out of the Manor, I'm going to need you to cover your half of the rent." Chris's expression changed from concern to slight annoyance. Seeing this Wyatt smiled in an act of reassurance. "I'll just reschedule the date for nine instead of eight. It's no big deal. Really. Now go study."

"Only if you're sure," Chris said, stalling a bit. Just his luck he would head out to the library, only to have to orb to some dark alley and vanquish the Thorn Demon.

"I'm positive. Now would you just go already? You need all the study time you can get."

Chris sneered at his brother. "Yeah, thanks. Call if you need me." He stood up, grabbed his backpack, car keys, and an apple off the center island and headed for the front door. "Good luck!" he shouted at his brother before shutting the door behind him.

"Wait! I need the keys!" Wyatt shouted after his brother. But the hum of the car engine told him he was too late, and Chris was already on his way. "Looks like I'm borrowing Mom's car," he mumbled to himself.

The eldest Halliwell stood up and pointed at the opened Book of Shadows. He walked towards the center island, the book following him. He grabbed some herbs from the kitchen cabinet, filled a cast iron pot with water, and set it over the flame he lit on the stove. Wyatt looked up at his aunt, arms crossed and a look of determination on his handsome features. "Now, where do I find this demon?"

* * *

Chris walked into the library of the City College of San Francisco and sighed. With the exception of someone bent over a book at the table in the back corner, the library was deserted. Then again, it was Friday night. "I'm probably the only idiot failing physics," he muttered to himself, walking towards a table two over from the fellow student and as far from the librarian as he could get.

He dropped his bag onto the table and began to unpack: textbook, notes, highlighters in several colors, and his iPod. He sat down, put the speakers in his ears and reached for his textbook. He had only opened the cover, though, when he realized he had forgotten to charge his iPod. "Damnit!" he muttered under his breath. He looked around the library; the student two tables over, a young girl, was studying her notes intently, and the librarian was typing on the computer at the checkout counter. Concentrating, he ignited a charge on the tip of his index finger, and placed it on the corresponding spot on his iPod, charging it. "It's not personal gain if passing physics keeps Mom and Dad from killing me," he whispered to himself.

Chris didn't know how long he'd been studying; it felt like forever. And still it felt like none of the information was sinking in. What was he going to do? He could _not_ fail. He removed the earphones from his ears, the music still pumping through and could be faintly heard from their place on his notebook. He stretched his arms out in front him and then began to rub his neck, working out the kinks from burying his nose in the books, when a shadow passed over him. He looked up, and standing in front of him was the girl who had been sitting two tables over. She was fidgeting and her delicate features wore a nervous expression. Yet the light shining from behind gave her an almost angelic appearance. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt," she said. "But, you're in Professor Hinkleback's physics class on Mondays and Thursdays, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Chris closed his textbook and leaned back in his chair. He knew he should be studying, but part of him was thankful for the distraction. It didn't hurt that she was easy on the eyes, either.

"I thought you looked familiar." She smiled, and although he could see it was genuine, he could also see she wasn't comfortable approaching strangers. Her right heel began to go up and down at a quick pace and she pushed a lock of shoulder-length brown hair behind her right ear, obvious nervous habits. "I'm sorry to impose, but I was wondering if you could quiz me." She held out a stack of index cards with questions written in her neat cursive. "I can quiz you, too, if you'd like. It's just that," she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then continued, "I'm _really_ having a hard time with this class and could use the extra help." She opened her eyes -- green, like he imagined Ireland to be -- and looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. There was fear and desperation.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards. "You're not the only one," Chris responded, happy to know he wasn't the only one with this dilemma. "Sure, sit down," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

She quickly turned and grabbed her books and bag off the other table, then returned to sit down across from him. "Thank you _so_ much. I really appreciate it," she said, placing her backpack on the chair to her right and spreading her books and notes out in front of her. "I swear, if I make it through this semester, it'll be a miracle."

"You're not kidding!" Chris said, happy to commiserate with someone who finally understood his dire situation. "I usually don't have trouble with sciences. Heck, I'm a chem major for crying out loud. But this guy . . . " He threw his hands up into the air in frustration. "It's like he wants us to fail or something!"

"Shh!" The two students looked up to the librarian immerge from the stacks, a finger to her lips and a disapproving look on her face. They turned their heads back towards each other and smiled.

"Yeah, when he walked in," she said, lowering her voice so the librarian wouldn't scold them again, "and wrote his name on the blackboard, saying we would need to know how to spell it for when we dropped the course, I should have taken that as a hint."

"You and me both," Chris said, shaking his head at his own naivety. He, too, learned quickly that Professor Hinkleback was no joke. He had found high school to be a fair challenge and had been looking forward to taking it to the next level in college. He heard rumors about his physics professor soon after he registered for the course, but brushed it off. However, it only took his second week of class to find out the rumors were indeed true: Professor Hinkleback was an asshole. Up until now he had suffered alone and in silence, so it was nice to sit with a classmate and air out his frustrations. It was also nice to have found a study partner, even if it was just for tonight. He didn't think he was going to scrap a decent grade on his own at this point. "So, how do you want me to quiz you?"

"Just pick a note card and read me the question," she instructed, handing the cards to him, smiling as their eyes met across the table. "The answer is written on the same side."

"All right," he said, quickly scanning the cards and shuffling them. He looked up at his classmate. Her were closed and she was mouthing formulas to herself. He smiled. "I'm Chris, by the way," he introduced himself. "Chris Halliwell."

"Duh! Sorry about that," she apologized, opening her eyes and a nervous giggle escaping her lips. "I'm Cassandra Cole, but you can call me Cassie."

"Nice to meet you, Cassie. Here's your first question . . . "

* * *

The alley was dark and dank until a swirl of white and blue lights appeared, illuminating the way. When the orbs disappeared, Paige and Wyatt came into view. The young man looked around, observing his surroundings, a frown full of disgust on his handsome features. "You know, just once I'd like to orb someplace _a little_ more cheerful to vanquish a demon." He looked down in time to see a rat cross his path, heading for the dumpster emitting a foul odor. "Ugh."

His aunt turned to him and smiled. "What? You expect demons _not_ to hang out in dark, dank alley ways?"

Wyatt shrugged, admitting defeat. "Well, it'd be a refreshing change, for once."

The two began to search the alleyway, spreading out, but making sure to keep each other in their sights. "Here, demon, demon, demon. Here, demon, demon, demon," Wyatt whispered, using the taunts to lure the Thorn Demon out into the open. "Come on, you useless piece of crap. Let's get this show on the road so I can meet my date."

"Now, Wyatt. You know everything has a purpose, even evil," Paige addressed her nephew. She was always teaching her charges that everything has purpose because destiny always gets its way. However, one look from her nephew told her that particular lesson would have to wait another day. She continued to comb the alley, and a soft grunt caught her attention. The Thorn Demon was standing over a young woman lying on the ground, her charge and a future Whitelighter by the name of Charity. "Hey! Over here!" Paige shouted, distracting the demon from its prey.

The demon looked up, examining Paige and Wyatt. He looked back and forth between the two, trying to decide who was the bigger threat, who to go after first. He didn't get the chance, though, because with the first step he took forward both Paige and Wyatt threw their potions at him. The potions hit the target, making small explosions on impact. However, the demon only took two steps backwards instead of being vanquished on the spot, clearly immune to what should have been a fatal potion.

"Uh-oh, that's not good," Paige remarked, slowly backing up as the Thorn Demon refocused its attention on her and her nephew, advancing once again. "That potion should have worked. He must have picked up some extra powers along the way."

"Oh, gee, you think?" Wyatt said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "Hey! Thorny!" he shouted at the demon, redirecting its attention from Paige to himself. He whistled, and the demon finally looked at Wyatt and started advancing. "You're toast," Wyatt told the demon. And with that, he raised both hands, palms out, and using his combustion power turned the demon to ashes.

"Impressive."

"Thanks," Wyatt said. He checked his watch, his eyebrows raised at the time. If he didn't hurry, he was going to be late. "Now if you don't mind, I've got a date to get ready for." And with that, he orbed out.

* * *

"So, you're a chem major, huh?" Cassie asked, both bewildered and amazed. "I don't know if that makes you smart, or just plain crazy." She twirled a pen between her fingers and a soft smile appeared on her face. Despite how it looked, with books, papers and note cards spread all over the table, Chris and Cassie had abandoned their study session a half-hour ago and were getting to know each other.

"I like to think a little bit of both," Chris responded, a coy smile on his lips. God, it felt good to flirt again! He'd been so wrapped up in demon duty and not flunking physics, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be a red-blooded, nineteen-year-old male. _Almost._ "What about you?"

"History. It was the only subject that interested me enough to take 84 credits. Not quite sure what I'm going to do with it, though, once I graduate." For the first time in a long time, Cassie felt herself relax. For what felt like years she'd been running around between school, the hospital, and trying to keep the condo in order; she had forgotten what it was like, to be a teenager. But sitting here in the library, talking with Chris, she felt almost . . . normal. "What about you? What are you going to do with a degree in chemistry?"

Chris shook his head and smiled. "You're not the first to ask that question. And honestly, I have no clue." He leaned back in his chair so it was on its rear legs and began to rock. "I certainly can't see myself sitting in a lab or anything. Chemistry was just something I was always good at and I thought it would be easier, choosing it as a major. Of course, that was before I learned I had to take physics as well and met Professor Hinkleback. What's his deal, anyway?"

"He's a heartless ass." Cassie's tone was cold, stoic. Her face was set in a grave expression, the corners of her mouth turned down. A dark shadow passed over her features, and there was something behind her eyes. He saw disgust, and _a lot_ of pain.

"Whoa. You're not harboring hateful feelings or anything, huh?" Chris put his chair on all fours and leaned forward, resting his arms in front of him on the table, concerned etched in his face.

Cassie dropped her head down to look at her hands, folded on the table in front of her, like a scorned child. "Not hateful, just . . . " She took a deep breath and raised her head, meeting Chris's concerned gaze. "Let's just say, I'm not a big fan."

"I can see that."

Cassie exhaled, unaware that she had been holding her breath up until that point. She kneaded her shoulders, working out the knots. She always tensed up when she was stressed. "I've been having . . . a rough semester. Personally, that is. And all of my other professors have been a little lenient, but Hinkleback could care less. As if the subject matter wasn't hard enough, I have to deal with this guy, too!" She dropped her head down, forehead resting on her arms. She knew how that would appear, that she was being overly dramatic, which was the last impression she wanted to give. But she didn't have any other choice. Because if she continued to look at Chris, look into those warm, caring green eyes, she would surely break down and cry.

"Hey," he said softly, attempting to get her attention. His breath caught in his throat when she picked up her head and he saw the hurt, panic and frustration in her eyes. He had a hard time believing this was the girl who asked him to quiz her, who joked with him about Professor 'Tinkleback,' and who possibly knew more about baseball than he did. His mother always called him 'the sensitive one,' and that side was urging him to do whatever he could for this girl. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well, actually, do you think we could have more study sessions? If you don't mind, that is," she quickly added on, not wanting to come across as needy and imposing. "There was no evening section of this class," she went on to explain, "so I was forced to sign up for the afternoon one, but I always end up getting there late or missing it altogether because there's so much traffic at that time of day between here and Memorial."

"The hospital?"

"Yeah, my mother is a patient there." There was a pregnant pause and Cassie mentally debated whether or not to disclose her mother's diagnosis. It was only natural to keep it to herself, but she hadn't talked to anyone about her mother's illness except her doctors, and the strain of keeping the information to herself was wearing on her. She needed a release. "Breast cancer."

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. The possible loss of a parent was hardly unfamiliar to him, considering his family's line of work. But his family was good at escaping death, and many times there were magical ways to avoid it. Cancer, on the other hand, was much more finite. "Sure, we can have all the study sessions you need." He reached out across the table, placed his hand over hers, and gave it a soft squeeze. "No problem."

Cassie looked down at their hands, skepticism starting to creep into her mind. When she first approached Chris she had a gut feeling, that he was honest, that he could be trusted. He didn't seem the type to 'take advantage of her vulnerability.' And she still felt that way, yet she couldn't help asking, "You're not pitying me, are you?"

"Well, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I feel bad, but no one understands family emergencies better than I do. Besides, it was nice to study with you instead of suffering through this material on my own. So call me, and we'll study together when you can." He ripped a piece of paper out of his notebook and jotted down his cell phone number. "You have a better chance of getting a hold of me on my cell than at home," he explained, handing her the paper.

She folded the paper in half and placed it inside her textbook. A sense of relief washed over her; she just might survive this semester after all. She smiled softly, appreciatively. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it. Now, I don't know about you," Chris said, capping his pen and closing his textbook, "but I've had enough of physics for one night. What do you say we get out of here?" He looked at her expectantly, figuring she would decline, but hoping she would accept his offer.

Cassie mulled it over. She really should get home. If she cleaned the condo tonight that would be a few extra hours she would have at the hospital, visiting her mother. But then the words her mother spoke just this afternoon rang in her mind: "Just because I'm dying, doesn't mean my daughter should stop living." She thought about how happy her mother would be, the smile that would appear on her face, if she was told her daughter spent Friday night making a friend and going out. That alone would make it worth it. The toilets and dust could wait another day. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Charmed_. I need a tissue to dry my tears.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. The thing is, I don't always write my stories in order. So while it took some time to get this chapter done, I have been writing. I've been working on not only future scenes of this story, but future stories, as well. Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait. But sure to review and let me know what you think. ::wink::

**Chapter Two**

The bass was thumping and the room had a smoky aura, courtesy of the strobe lights flashing in time with the beat of the music. "Come on!" Chris shouted, grabbing Cassie's hand and leading her through the fray that was a typical Friday night a P3. "We'll grab seats at the bar."

"Are we allowed in here?" Cassie asked, raising her voice to be heard over the music. She looked over her shoulder as her new friend continued to lead her forward as they came through the back entrance, expecting a bouncer to come charging after them, ready to throw them out on their collective butts.

"Typically, no. But tonight is 18 to get in and 21 to drink. It doesn't matter, though, my mom owns the place." He flashed her a smile and pulled up a stool in front of the bar. "Have a seat," he instructed, patting the stool. He effortlessly slid onto its next-door neighbor, and raised a hand to signal the bartender. "Two waters, please."

"So your mom owns this place, huh? Do you come here often?" Cassie asked, trying to make small talk. She had felt so comfortable and at ease with Chris when they were studying in the library. She had even been excited on the drive to the club, following Chris's car. But now that they were in the club, in a complete social setting, she felt the nerves creep up on her, from her toes on up to her ears. She began to fidget, peeling the label off her water bottle.

"Not as often as most people expect," Chris replied, unscrewing the cap off his mineral water. He took a quick swig. "While it's good for an inexpensive time out on the town, there _is_ a con, though. Come here too often, and Wyatt and I run the risk of being spied on and word getting back to Mom."

"Wyatt?"

Chris swallowed another sip of water and nodded. "My older brother." An arm snaked in between the twosome, grabbed Chris's water bottle and left the way it came. He followed the movement, and found his older brother taking a sip of his water. "Speak of the devil! Were your ears just ringing?"

"No, but a foul odor did alert me to your presence," Wyatt retorted, flashing a brilliant grin. He stood tall, a few inches over six feet, his stance exuding confidence. His hair was still damp, and Chris guessed the vanquish had nearly made him late for his date.

"You sure it wasn't your cologne?" Chris bit back, snatching the water bottle out of his older brother's hand. He eyed it warily for a moment, dropped it on the bar, and signaled the bartender again to order a fresh one.

"You sure you're studying?" Wyatt asked, raising his hand to catch the bartender's attention as well. "Two beers, please," he ordered. His attention returned to his younger brother, and the young woman sitting next to him, watching the boys with an amused smile on her delicate features. "I would think it would be difficult to memorize formulas with your books at the library." He took the two beers, passed one to his date, and slid a few bills onto the bar. "Thanks, Neil," he said, addressing the bartender by name.

"We did. Now we're taking a break," Chris explained. He took a sip from his fresh bottle of water, and felt his face grow warm with flush, in spite of himself. True, he had gone to the library alone to study. So he had met a study partner in the process. So what? It wasn't a big deal. But Wyatt would make it a big deal. That's what big brothers were for.

"_We_?" the blonde youth asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He had had many study dates himself, and therefore knew from experience that typically, little studying got done during those sessions.

"Yeah, _we_." Chris's retort was sharp, cutting. His tone seemed to be asking if his older brother had suddenly gone dense. He took a breath to collect himself and made the introductions. "Wyatt, this is Cassie. Cassie, meet my brother, Wyatt, and his date . . . " Chris's voice trailed off, indicating he was unfamiliar with his brother's current the flavor of the week. She was pretty enough, though. Tall and blonde, she wore an expression of slight impatience, none too keen to be wasting precious minutes in the company of her date's little brother and his friend.

"Oh, this is Emily," he said, placing his free hand on the small of her back. He caught the expression on her face, and offered his date a sheepish grin. "Emily, this is my brother, Chris, and Cassie. Nice to meet you, Cassie," Wyatt greeted her. He removed his hand from Emily's back in exchange for his beer, and extended the other for Cassie to shake. She tentatively put her hand in his, and he noticed it seemed to shake slightly with nerves. "I hope you can help get my little brother through this class," he said, slapping Chris on the back. "Lord knows I'm tired of hearing him whine about it." He flashed the young woman one of his most brilliant smiles and took a sip of his beer.

Cassie smiled at the young man's ribbing. If Wyatt hoped to embarrass his brother, she would have to estimate he was doing a good job, based on the expression on Chris's face. "'Fraid not. I'm pretty useless when it comes to any form of science. I'm relying on Chris to get me through." She smiled, displaying support for her new friend.

"Hope you don't mind taking physics again next semester, then." He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, 'that's the way it goes,' and sipped his beer.

"Nonsense! We're going to pass that exam on Monday with flying colors."

"I wish I could be as optimistic as you are." There was a hint of defeat in Chris's voice and dejection written on his face. "This class makes me feel like the semester will never end. How can you be so certain?"

Cassie smiled, glad to return the favor from the library and offer her new friend some support. "There's something to be said for positive thinking."

"You got a point there."

Well, I'm gonna go before Emily takes off with another man," Wyatt excused himself, his date now on the dance floor with a group of girls, and a few men ogling her from the sidelines. "I'm on thin ice as it is," he mumbled to himself. "Anyway, good luck you two. Have fun . . . _studying_." The young man smirked, pleased with his joke. He clapped his brother on the back, gave Cassie a wink, and walked out onto the dance floor to join Emily.

Cassie burst out laughing. "Was he just trying to flirt with me?" she asked, surprise and amusement mixed in her voice.

"He wasn't doing a good job of it, but yes," Chris replied, a smile forming on his own handsome features. Her smile and laughter were infectious, and he suspected it wasn't something she had been doing a lot of lately. It was therapeutic to laugh.

"Well, he's something, huh?"

"Oh, he's something all right." He stood up and offered her his hand. "So, do you wanna dance?"

* * *

Cassie stepped into the hospital elevator and pressed the button for her mother's floor. She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes. She was tired, but it was a good tired. It was nice to have been up late partying instead of studying for once.

When the elevator arrived on her floor, she quickly took another sip before stepping out. Truth be told, she didn't care for the taste of coffee much. But with all the running around she'd been doing over the last few years, she learned to deal with it. It started so innocently: a trip or two to the hospital cafeteria, drinking it to pass the time away. Now she couldn't get her day started without it, and sometimes her afternoon as well.

She stopped in the doorway to her mother's room, and was happy to see her sitting up, flipping through a magazine. Her mother, Catherine Cole, had always loved fashion and fashion magazines. And that didn't stop simply because she was limited to wearing a drafty hospital gown. "Hey, there," Cassie greeted her, stepping into the sterile room her mother had called home for the last month.

Catherine looked up and smiled at the sight of her daughter. Had she been in perfect health, looking at her daughter would have been like looking into a mirror: same porcelain skin; wide, bright smile; and thick brown hair. They were so alike, with the exception of their eyes, of course. Cassie had her father's eyes. "Hey, stranger. I was wondering if you had time today for your mother."

"It took some shuffling, but I managed to squeeze you in." She walked over to the lone chair in the room and set her bag down next to it. It was loaded with the latest issues of fashion magazines and her physics notes. It was probably as heavy as those sets of encyclopedias her mother once told her about, the ones she used for research when she was a kid.

Catherine patted the space next to her on the bed. "Well, tell me about it. How's your weekend going?"

The young woman sat down next to her mother and stretched out her legs. "Pretty good. I got some studying in for Physics, and there's a chance I might even pass this exam. And, well . . . " She paused. When she spoke again she lowered her voice, as if she was sharing a secret for only her mother to hear. "I made a new friend."

"Oh, really?" The older woman wore an expression of surprise on her face, even though she tried to hide it. Her daughter was always shy and had a hard time approaching new people. Making new friends was not a task she challenged herself with on a regular basis.

"Really, so you can wipe that surprised look off your face." Catherine at first wore an over exaggerated expression of surprise at her daughter's suggestion, but then laughed at getting caught. Cassie joined in the laughter, something the two of them didn't do often enough. "His name is Chris Halliwell and he's in my Physics class. We met in the library on campus last night and started studying together. Then we went out to his mother's club."

"Club?" This time Catherine was unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, and really didn't even bother to try. Cassie never expressed any interest in clubs. Her idea of a perfect night out was spending it at a ball game.

"Yeah. His mother owns P3."

"So, you found a tutor and went clubbing with him. Hmmm . . . well, you certainly accomplished a lot in one night." She smiled. "Dating the tutor . . . " She snuck a peek at her daughter, who was starting to squirm. It felt so natural to tease her and at the same time, a little sad. She hadn't had much to tease her daughter about the last year or so.

"No! No, no, no! First off, he's not my tutor; he's my study partner. And second, we are _not_ dating."

"Oooh . . . someone's a little sensitive. What? Do you have a crush?"

"Mom," she whined. "I do _not_ have a crush. I'm just a little excited, that's all. This is the first friend I've made since I started college. I've let a lot of my friends from high school slide . . . it's just nice to interact with someone other than medical professionals and the take-out delivery guys." Cassie coughed to break the uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. The last thing she wanted to do was make her mother feel guilty for getting sick, like it was her fault her social calendar was empty. Because the truth was no matter how ugly it got or how ugly it was still going to get, there's no place she'd rather be than at her mother's side.

"But still," Catherine sighed. She was becoming short of breath and took a moment before continuing. "I just wish I knew there would be someone to support you and take care of you once I'm gone."

"Mom," Cassie gasped, turning to look her mother in the eye, a horrified expression on her young features. "Please, don't talk like that," she said softly.

"Cassie . . . " the older woman said, her voice stern. Just because she was ill didn't mean she couldn't play the mom card if necessary. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, and when she opened them they were shining with tears. "You and I both know what my prognosis is. Ignoring it doesn't make it less real. There's no point in denying it. I'm dying, Cassie. And I need to know that you'll be okay."

The young woman's green eyes shined with tears. "Oh Mom, you're all I need," she said, taking the older woman's hand in her own and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You've given me the strength to deal with all this. I'll be okay. I promise. I don't need anyone else."

Catherine put her hand over their joined ones and sighed, shaking her head slightly. "Everyone needs someone, Cassie. And one day you'll meet that someone. I just don't want you to be so stubborn and determined to make it on your own, that you let him walk right by." She tried to make eye contact with her daughter, but failed. She continued anyway. "I know it hurts. But it's supposed to. You can't appreciate the good until you've felt the bad."

"Leave it to you to be philosophical right now."

"Well, it's all true."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Oh, Cassie. My dear, sweet Cassie." She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. It took all her strength to do that, but it was worth it. She sighed and closed her eyes. "There's so much . . . so much I still have to tell you," Catherine said softly. She opened her eyes and watched her daughter, who as staring intently at the joined hands.

"Not now, Mom. There's plenty of time. You can tell me another day." Cassie slid off the bed and helped her mother slide back down into it, pulling the covers up tight around her to tuck her in.

Catherine sighed. It was happening so much more often, the waves of exhaustion taking over. Each day was progressively harder to keep up her strength. "I love you, Cassie," she whispered, before her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Cassie leaned over and kissed her mother's forehead. "I love you too, Mom."

* * *

The Halliwell brothers were sitting at the kitchen table, getting ready to start their Monday. Chris was reading his physics notes, unaware of the trail of milk on the table, courtesy of his cereal spoon, held just in front of his mouth. Wyatt also had a bowl of cereal in front of him, but the contents were getting soggy as his attention was diverted to the faint ringing in his ears. He tilted his head to one side and started tapping it with the heel of his hand, much in the same manner he would use to remove water from his ear after swimming.

Wyatt looked at his younger brother, nose buried in his book, absentmindedly eating his cereal and oblivious to the ringing. "Don't you hear that?" he asked his brother, both frustrated and annoyed.

Chris raised his head, directing his attention to Wyatt, watching him repeatedly tap the heel of his hand against his head, just above his ear. This was strange behavior, even for the Halliwell household. "Hear what?" he asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"That ringing!"

Chris smiled, slightly amused by his older brother's discomfort. "'Fraid not. Maybe you're getting too old to be hanging out where loud music is played." He snickered and resumed eating his cereal.

"I am _not_ too old!" As Wyatt shouted, working up his emotions, his powers got away from him, as they often do. The kitchen table shook and the toaster popped, a small spiral of smoke starting to rise from it.

Chris eyed the busted toaster then looked back at his brother. "All right, all right, you're not old. Geez!" He returned his attention to his physics notes. "And they say I'm the sensitive, over-dramatic one," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"Good morning, boys." Piper Halliwell entered the kitchen wearing her pajamas and a smile on her face. It warmed her heart to see her boys sitting at the table, preparing for their day. It was simple, basic, normal. And she loved it.

"Wyatt's got a ringing in his ear," Chris told his mother, using the same tone he did when he five-years-old, snitching on Wyatt when he used his powers outside the house.

"What? No, 'good morning, Mom. Wyatt has a ringing in his ear'?" She smiled, thinking she was enjoying a joke with her sons, but one look at her eldest's frustration told her this was a more serious matter. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. There's just this . . . faint ringing. Seems more like it's in my head than in my ear, though." Giving in to the sound, Wyatt abandoned his attempts to knock it out, and folded his arms on the table, resting his head on them in defeat.

"Good morning, everyone," greeted Leo, walking into the kitchen. He kissed his wife, crossed the room, and poured himself a cup of coffee. "How is everyone?"

"Wyatt has a ringing in his ear," Piper told her husband, the concern evident in her voice.

"God! It never stops!" Wyatt complained, now softly banging his head on the table. "Make it go away!"

"Uh, do you mind?" Chris asked, looking up from his notes, clearly irritated by this new distraction. "Some of us are trying to read at this table. Can't you bang your head on the wall or something?"

"There will be no head banging!" Piper said, crossing her arms in front of her chest, her tone stern. She turned to her husband. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing is wrong with him," Leo said before turning to his oldest son. "That ringing you're hearing is the call from the Elders, which means you're coming into your Whitelighter powers."

"Well, how come Chris isn't coming into his powers, too? It's not fair." The older of the two boys leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and pouted like a toddler demanding his way.

"You probably have to pass physics before you can become a Whitelighter, too," Chris responded, a mixture of disappointment and relief in his voice. He had been waiting -- and apparently still is -- to come into his Whitelighter powers, but if he was being completely honest with himself, he simply did not have room on his plate for additional responsibilities.

"Can't I come into them tomorrow?" Wyatt whined, wishing he was five again and his parents could magically make his problems go away. "I've got class in an hour."

"Wyatt, you know better than that! If you're coming into your powers now there must be a reason for it. Someone needs your help. You can't just ignore that," Leo lectured his son. Deep down, though, he was proud. His son was becoming a Whitelighter today, would be given his first charge. This was a special moment in a young Whitelighter's life, and he was glad he was there to share it with him.

"Someone always needs my help," he muttered, knowing full well his father was right, but not quite yet ready to admit it aloud.

"Wyatt . . . " Piper and Leo said in unison, their tone clearly warning their son he was on thin ice.

"Fine, fine! I'll go answer the call from the elders!" Wyatt shouted in disgust, quickly standing up from his chair. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it." He crossed his arms in front of his chest in an effort to let his parents know he meant business. Then he orbed out of the kitchen to meet the elders, see what all the fuss was about, and receive his first assignment and charge.

* * *

Cassandra Cole heaved a sigh of relief as she pulled into a parking space on campus. "Made it, with 15 minutes to spare," she said softly to herself, cutting the engine and double-checking her watch. Typically she was late for this class, but today, today she wasn't just on time; she was early. She opened the car door and climbed out. If she hurried, she could squeeze some extra studying in before the exam started.

"Bag, coffee, notes, keys." Cassie listed the items as she pulled each one out of her car. She slung her bag over her shoulder, pocketed her keys, and closed the door with her hip while grabbing the coffee and notes -- one in each hand -- off of the roof of her car. She hustled to the quad and sipped her coffee while scanning her physics notes.

Cassie surveyed the quad. It was a beautiful day, and the student body seemed to be making the most out of the agreeable weather. Her classmates had spread blankets in various shaded and sunny areas and were laying down -- some to study, some to sunbathe, and some to make-out with their significant others. A trio of girls was standing in a huddle, watching a small group of shirtless guys play touch football. She decided to enjoy the weather as well while reviewing her notes, and sat down on a nearby bench shaded by an old oak tree.

"I think I might actually remember all these formulas," Cassie said to herself, her lips beginning to form a proud smile. She checked her watch: 5 minutes until the exam. She gathered her notes, grabbed her coffee and started to stand when she heard a shout from behind.

"Look out!"

She dropped her notes and coffee at the sound of the warning, and quickly turned around. The football the group of boys had been playing with was headed right towards her at an alarming speed. Cassie panicked; she'd never been good at sports, or terribly coordinated for that matter. She threw her hands up to block her face from being hit, but then, the strangest thing happened.

The ball was so close. She squeezed her eyes tight, bracing herself for the sting of impact the ball would have with her hands, but it never came. Instead, the football dropped to the ground, as if it had hit some invisible barrier. She bent over to pick it up, staring at it in wonder. "What the hell?" she muttered.

"Sorry about that." She lifted her head at the sound of the male voice. One of the shirtless guys was jogging towards her, his torso glistening with sweat and panting slightly from his workout. "Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," Cassie replied. She paused and fidgeted nervously, slightly intimidated by the silence. She extended her hand, offering the young man his football. "Here you go." She quickly dropped the ball into the young man's extended hand and looked down. The ground was littered with her physics notes, some of which were stained with coffee. "Shit!" She dropped to her hands and knees and gathered the scattered papers. She picked up one by the corner. It was soaked with coffee and immediately tore from the weight of the liquid. "I hope I have that information memorized." She closed her eyes and sighed. "I _so_ don't need this today," she said softy.

"Lemme help you," the young man said. He crouched down, tucked the football under his arm and collected the last of the scattered papers. "I hope they weren't too important," he said, commenting on the stains as he handed them to her.

"Thanks," she replied, taking the notes from him. "I have an exam in a few minutes. I suppose if I don't know it by now, I'll never know it." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. "Well, I'd better be going or I'll be late. Thanks for all your help." Cassie stood, double-checked she had everything, minus her coffee, and smiled. "See you around."

The young man stood as well, holding the empty coffee cup and threw it into a nearby trashcan. "You too," he replied, smiling. "Good luck on your exam!" he called after her retreating form.

"Thanks!" Cassie shouted, waving as she jogged towards the science building, hair flying behind her.

"No, thank _you_," the young man said. His gaze on the young woman intensified, and his eyes flashed red. He smiled, tossed the ball up into the air, caught it, and trotted back towards his friends.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! Please hit the review button and let me know what you think. Pretty please! 


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Charmed_. Sad, but true.

**Author's Note:** Over 4,000 words later, the chapter is finally done. Whew! I spent some of the time between chapters writing a future story, though. So I hope to have lots for you to read in the future. But for now, please read the chapter, enjoy, and let me know what you think!

**Chapter Three**

Amid time and space, white, with a soft light glowing, a swirl of lights appeared to reveal a young, blonde man. "So, this is 'Up There'," Wyatt said softly to himself, taking in his surroundings. "Huh. Doesn't look like much."

"It's not designed to."

Wyatt turned around at the sound of the voice, and saw two Elders walking towards him. The younger of the two was quite tall. He had dirty blonde hair and wore an expression of determination. Perhaps he was as new to all this as Wyatt was himself. The older Elder, on the other hand, was shorter, a foot or so by Wyatt's approximation, and round. He had salt and pepper hair and wore a short beard. He continued to speak. "This is a sanctuary, a place of calm and peacefulness."

"Not one of those parties you like to frequent," the younger Elder interjected.

"Parties?" Wyatt asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, but he feared he was unable to keep a guilty expression off his face.

"You think we don't know what you're up to?" the younger Elder continued, hints of anger and distain in his voice. "Ignoring your responsibilities, your birthright. You spend more time dating than vanquishing evil."

"So you're spying on me?" All guilt immediately left the young man and was replaced with intense anger. How _dare_ they invade his life, his privacy! "Well, I'm sorry the 'twice-blessed child' isn't living up to your expectations. But I'm not here to just do your bidding and rid the world of evil. In case you've forgotten, I happen to be human, too." He stepped forward so he was nose-to-nose with the younger Elder. He looked him dead in the eye and his voice didn't waiver as he continued to speak. "And don't _ever_ imply I don't save my innocents."

The two men continued to stare at each other, neither wanting to back down and be the first to break the gaze. Finally the older man stepped in. He slipped an arm around Wyatt's shoulder and steered him away from his fellow Elder.

"I understand, Wyatt. You're still discovering who you are, and how magic will fit into your life. It's only natural. But right now we need you. And I think this will be good for you, too. It'll allow you to explore another part of your magical heritage, and maybe show you who you can be." The older Elder started to walk forward, his arm still around the young Whitelighter in an effort to distract him from his earlier conflict. The younger Elder stood behind him, arms crossed in front of his chest, none too pleased to have his peer interfere in the confrontation.

"You're assigning me a charge, then?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes. A young woman will be coming into her powers soon. She's new to the world of magic, but a great destiny awaits her. She's going to need your help and guidance."

"And you . . . you think I'm ready for that?" There was a hint of nervousness in the young Whitelighter's voice. Just before he orbed to meet the Elders he felt butterflies in his stomach and a wave of excitement wash over him. _His first charge!_ But now that he was here, and his charge was being handed to him, he was having doubts. Helping people, handling responsibility, that was Chris's forte. He, on the other hand, was the demon hunter, someone who operated best under the influence of adrenaline, not thought and reason.

"This is your time, Wyatt. And I wouldn't trust this task to anyone else." He held up a hand when the Whitelighter opened his mouth to speak. "Your brother has his own path, and will follow it in his own time. Trust us."

Wyatt snorted. "Easier said than done."

"True," the Elder smiled at the young man's candor. "But this is your destiny, and if there's one thing I know your family taught you, it's that you can't fight your destiny."

Wyatt dropped his head and stared at his shoes for a moment. When he raised his head, a soft smile graced his handsome features. "Destiny always gets its own way," he said softly, repeating the words his great-grandmother used to say and had become the Halliwell mantra. The young man's thoughts turned to the weekend's demonic activities, and he bit his bottom lip, deep in thought.

"Is there something else?" the Elder asked. It appeared to him the young man was having an inner struggle, trying to decide whether or not to speak his mind.

"Well, while I'm up here . . . I have a question." Feeling some courage, Wyatt took his offensive stance, legs shoulder-with apart and arms crossed in front of his chest. "The other night Aunt Paige and I tried to vanquish a Thorn Demon. A demon _you_ sent us after, I might add. The vanquishing potion didn't work. Any chance you can tell me why?"

The two Elders exchanged glances, obviously trying to decided what, if anything at all, to tell the new Whitelighter. Finally, the older one began to speak. "Just like we sense this witch coming into her power, evil senses it too, but in a different way. This witch, she will have quite a formidable power, and evil can sense that. It's not unusual for lower-level demons to acquire additional powers, in an effort to protect themselves from any perceived threats."

"So, she's going to be vulnerable then. Until she fully comes into her power, that is," the younger Elder joined in.

The older Elder nodded in agreement to his peer's statement. "And for a while afterwards, too," he said, expanding on the explanation. "Just like your mother and aunts, it will take this new witch time to master her powers. Coming into your powers as an adult is very different from growing up with them as a child."

"Any chance you'll tell me what her power is?" Wyatt's question was met with silence. "No, I didn't think so," he said, scratching the scruff on his chin he neglected to shave when his head started ringing. He re-crossed his arms and sighed when the Elders still hadn't provided him with an answer. "Is there anything else?"

The eldest man licked his lips before beginning to speak. "Just remember: no one can fight who they are, who they're meant to be." The two men did not elaborate on this statement, and Wyatt took that to mean the conversation was finished. He nodded his head in assent, to let them know he got the message, then orbed back to the Manor.

"Do you think he understood, Amos?"

The older Elder sighed. "He will, Samuel, in time."

* * *

A dark-haired young man was leaning against the wall of the science building, just outside a classroom door. He was reading some of his notes, but looked up when he heard the door open. "Hey! Cassie!" Chris called after his classmate. The young woman stopped and turned when she heard her name, and he jogged to catch up with her. "How do you think you did?"

She sighed. "Honestly, not too bad," she replied, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I just wish my notes had faired as well," she added with a frown, holding out the coffee-stained papers for him to see. On some the ink was merely smudged, but others were completely unreadable.

"Whoa! What happened?" the young man asked, surveying the mess.

"Collision in the quad," Cassie responded. "Do you think I could make copies of your notes, so I have them for the final?" she asked, spotting a trashcan a few steps away and depositing her soggy notes there.

"Yeah, sure. No problem. We'll just copy them the next time we're in the library." Chris hesitated, not sure how to voice what was on his mind. He would hardly call what they had a friendship; as far as he was concerned they were still acquaintances. But the Whitelighter in him couldn't help but be concerned, and it won-out. "How's . . . everything else?" he timidly asked.

"Oh, well, okay I guess," the young woman responded. She brushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and readjusted the strap of her bag again, her fidgeting indicating she was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "I'm hanging in there." She flashed him a quick smile, as if to convince him of how okay she really was.

"Yeah." Chris bit on his bottom lip, not believing her, but not sure of what else to say. Finally, he decided to offer a helping hand if she felt she needed it. "You know, if there's anything else I can do for you . . . "

"Thanks for the offer, but no," Cassie quickly replied. Truth be told, she was a bit touched by his kindness. All he really knew about her was her dismal performance in the science fields. And while it was really tempting to reach out and accept his offer, she knew she couldn't. Some things you just had to do on your own. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Just gotta take it day by day."

Chris nodded. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere by forcing his presence or assistance on her. Hopefully, she would reach out on her own, when she felt she needed to. "Well, you have my number if you change your mind."

"Yeah, thanks. Oh, excuse me," Cassie said, thankful for the interruption, courtesy of her cell phone. "Hello?" There was a moment's pause then she directed her attention back to the young man standing before her. "This is the hospital," she explained, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. "I gotta take it."

"Sure, no problem. See you next class."

"See you." The young woman gave him a quick wave then directed her attention back to her phone once he was out of earshot. "This is Cassie," she said, redirecting her attention to the task at hand, her voice business-like. She was silent while the person on the other end spoke, but then let out an audible gasp. "Oh, no!" she cried, her free hand covering her mouth in shock.

* * *

Two days since he first heard the call from the Elders, Wyatt found himself orbing 'Up There' again. He had been thinking of his charge since his first meeting with the magical beings, wondering who she was and what she would be like. He would close his eyes and meditate, attempting to sense her. At one point during the day he did feel a wave of grief wash over him. Maybe he could be a Whitelighter after all.

He looked around and spied the two Elders he first met with walking towards him. He met them halfway. "So, do I get to know her name now?" he asked, assuming his charge was the reason he heard the ringing in his ear again during breakfast.

"Cassandra Cole," Amos replied.

When neither Elder expanded on that, the young man rolled his eyes. He felt his temper starting to rise. Was _every_ meeting going to be a game of 20 questions? "Care to elaborate at all on that?" Wyatt asked, less that satisfied with such a simple response.

"She's a college student," Samuel said, going against his better judgment and describing the new witch. "Her powers were bound as a child; she doesn't remember ever having them. Her mother recently died, so . . . "

"So her powers are no longer bound," Wyatt finished the Elder's sentence. Despite his magical education and upbringing, this was a basic rule he was well aware of. His own mother's powers had been bound, and she did not receive them until after her grandmother died. He realized this was done to protect the witches in question, but it left them vulnerable when they finally came into their powers. The person who bound them was taking a great risk that the witch would be able to defend herself, and she undoubtedly would have to upon receiving her powers.

Amos nodded, letting the young Whitelighter know he was correct in his assessment, and happy to see he understood the seriousness of the situation. "Precisely. She's new to the craft, plus she's grieving, so this won't be easy."

"So, how do I do this?" Wyatt asked. At first it had seemed so simple: get assigned a charge, guide her as she learns the craft. But the reality was he had no idea how to go about doing that. His father had had a cover when he was a Whitelighter; he posed as a handyman. He, on the other hand, had college and an internship along with his Wiccan responsibilities. How was he supposed to introduce himself to this new witch? "Can you at least give me a jumping off point?"

"You have to assimilate yourself into her life. Earn her trust," Amos instructed, patting the young man on the shoulder in an act of reassurance. He knew the young man would have doubts about himself, but he had to get over them quickly. He would be of no help to his charge if his confidence was shaky at best.

"And just how exactly do I go about that?" Wyatt asked, his patience wearing thin. Would it _kill_ the Elders to give him a straight answer for once? He _knew_ they knew the answers he was looking for. Why couldn't they just _tell_ him?

Amos folded his hands in front of him, a calm expression on his face. He had been an elder _long_ before his father had been a Whitelighter, and try as he might, the young man before him would be unsuccessful in rattling his cage. "That is up to you to decide."

Wyatt threw up his hands in disgust, his patience shot and the frustration of the situation overwhelming him. "Oh, sure, no problem," he deadpanned. "I'll just walk up to her and say 'hey, sorry about your mom. But the good news is, you're a witch. Unfortunately, it's just a matter of time before demons start attacking you. But don't worry! I'm your guardian angel.' Yeah, that'll go over like a lead balloon." He let out an exasperated sigh and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Samuel rolled his eyes at the young man's tantrum. This was the problem with Whitelighters who were witches as well. They had trouble with the bigger picture, had too many emotional ties, and forgot that their assignments were not about them but for the benefit of their charges. "Oh, don't be so dramatic! You're just like your mother." One look from Wyatt alerted the Elder that this was _not_ the right thing to say. Not aloud at least anyway, however true it may be. "It shouldn't be too hard to approach her," he continued, hoping to distract the Whitelighter from his earlier statement. "You already know her."

"Excuse me?" Wyatt was taken aback at this piece of news. Since when did Whitelighters get assigned to their friends? He gently shook his head. It couldn't be true.

"You met Friday night at your mother's club."

This information sank in, and realization dawned on Wyatt: Chris's friend, _Cassie_. "Then perhaps you chose the wrong brother," he said softly.

"It's like I said the last time we met, Wyatt," Amos said, hoping to get the young man to trust in his instincts, trust in this assignment. "Christopher has his own path, and this one is yours. Don't fight it. See where it takes you."

"Right, right. See where it takes me." The young man closed his eyes, mulling over everything. His mother had warned him the Elders were known for their 'cryptic crap,' as she put it. And in her mind, she would think they were 'up to no good' with her son. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit he agreed with her. But what else could he do? He couldn't leave a new witch hanging out the open, fresh for the taking by demons. He sighed. "Any chance you know where it'll take me?" This question was met with silence. "What am I saying? Of course you do. But you wouldn't want to tell me, or anything. That would be too easy."

"Some things, you just have to learn on your own," Amos solemnly said.

"Right." Wyatt looked down at his worn sneakers. He was afraid if he looked at the Elders he would not be able to keep his temper in check. After a few moments, when he was convinced he was somewhat calm, he looked up. "Well, if there's nothing else I guess I'll be off, trying to find a way to introduce my charge to magic." He added the last phrase sarcastically. When his retort received no acknowledgement, he readied himself to orb out.

But before he could, Amos placed a hand on the young man's arm. "Wyatt, just be patient with her. She'll come around."

"Thanks." And without so much as another glance, Wyatt finally orbed out.

"Don't you think you said too much?" Samuel asked, concerned the young man would not learn all he needed to in the right time so he could fully understand it.

"Are you kidding?" Amos asked in disbelief. "When you get down to it, we hardly told him anything at all."

* * *

A tan, hybrid SUV traveled the narrow roads of the cemetery. It pulled up behind a small line of cars parked behind a hearse. Wyatt cut the engine and turned to his passenger. "Thanks for coming with me," he said.

"Sure, don't mention it." Chris looked out the passenger side window at the small group of people gathering at the coffin several feet away. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. "God, I can't believe Cassie's mother died. I can't even begin to imagine . . . if something happened to Mom and Dad . . . " His voice trailed off.

"Chris, don't even go there," the older brother commanded. His family seemed to stare death in the face on a near-daily basis. They couldn't afford to think about losing a family member. If they did, it would give evil the upper hand in battle.

"I know. Sorry." The young man looked away from the graveside gathering and directed his attention toward his brother. "You know, I have to admit, I was surprised when you asked me to come with you," he said as they exited the car. He quickly ran his hands over his black suit, smoothing out any wrinkles that may have formed during the car ride over. "Funerals aren't exactly your thing."

"Whose thing _are_ they?" Wyatt deadpanned as the boys made their way towards the gravesite.

"You know what I mean," Chris said, as they found a spot off to the side and set back a bit, to prevent them from infringing on the family's grief.

"Yeah, I do." Wyatt leaned closer to his brother and whispered in his ear, "The thing is, there's more to it than supporting your friend."

"Oh?" Chris's head snapped to look at his brother, his interest piqued. "Care to tell me about it?" He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

The eldest Halliwell thought for a moment. "I don't know if I can," he said, wondering when the Whitelighter-charge confidentiality agreement went into effect.

"Since when can't you tell me something?" the younger brother asked, looking hurt.

"Looks like they're about to start," Wyatt said, evading the question.

"Dear Lord," the priest said once everyone had gathered around the gravesite. "We gather here to honor our beloved sister, Catherine…"

"Not a lot of people here, huh?" Chris commented in a hushed voice, surveying the surroundings. Cassie sat in the front row, a woman who looked to be about their mother's age sitting next to her, hand in hand. A few people sat in chairs behind them, but half of the folding chairs that had been set up were empty.

"It's a funeral, Chris, not a party."

"I _know_ that. I just mean . . . it looks like Cassie doesn't have a lot of family."

Wyatt's eyes scanned the crowd, and he silently agreed with his brother's assessment. "I don't know if that'll make this easier or harder," he said softly, mostly to himself, but the youngest Halliwell couldn't help hearing.

"You're her Whitelighter, aren't you?" Chris asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Wyatt said, relieved to have it out in the open and finally have someone other than two vague Elders to talk about it with. "The Elders just told me today."

"Any idea what her power is, or how you're going to tell her?"

"No and no."

"Well, you better figure out something quick," Chris warned his brother. "If evil doesn't steal her powers, you've still got the 24-hour free will window to contend with."

"Don't remind me," Wyatt huffed. He didn't need his brother to remind him of what was at stake, of what the risks were. The knots in his shoulders were all the reminder he needed. "You got any ideas on how I can approach her?" he asked, hoping his brother could give him some insight to the young woman he was sent to guide and protect.

"Mom's baking a casserole. Take it to her later." The corners of Chris's mouth turned upwards. "I had a sneaking suspicion when you said you wanted to come to the funeral," he explained, seeing the expression on his brother's face.

"Thanks." Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully the offer of comfort food would get his foot in the door, both literally and metaphorically. "Any idea on how I'm supposed to tell her she's a witch?"

"No, but if you're lucky you won't have to. She may start subconsciously using her power on her own." One thing the boys learned when they were young was that their powers were tied to their emotions. Chris had to imagine Cassie was feeling a wide range of them right now, and there was a good chance one of them would trigger her power, whatever it was.

"I can only hope." Wyatt said. It would be much easier to explain she was a witch if she had already used her powers. It may make her more likely to believe him, instead of tossing him out on his rear end. "I still think they assigned her to the wrong brother, though," he said softly, watching as friends and family members one by one left a rose on the coffin.

Chris rolled his eyes. For someone with just about all the magically ability in the world, his brother didn't seem to think too highly of himself unless he was blasting a demon to smithereens. "When are you going to learn to trust these things and go with it?"

"Trust? Trust?? Chris, how can you even suggest that?" Wyatt did his best to keep his voice low while his emotions ran high. "How can we possibly trust a group of people who didn't want us to be born?" The young man stared at his brother in disbelief. Could he _really_ be that naive? That everything in their magical lives was as simple as trusting the Elders?

"No, of course not," Chris sighed. "But you're supposed to trust there's a reason _you're_ her Whitelighter and _I'm_ not. So just go with already."

Wyatt smiled in spite of his confusion and inner panic. "Spoken like a true Whitelighter."

"Wyatt…"

"Okay, okay," the older brother said, resigning himself to the fact that this conversation was finished. The twosome stood in silence, watching the services conclude. As the patrons started to stand, Cassie looked over and saw them. She nodded, acknowledging their presence and thanking them all at once. The boys nodded in return. "You ever wonder what it would have been like, if Mom and the aunts bound our powers when we were kids?" Wyatt asked as the two turned and headed back towards the car.

"Some of us _are_ still kids," Chris said, trying to make light of the subject. When his brother didn't jest in returned, he decided to be honest. "Yeah, I've thought about it from time to time. I can't imagine just one day coming into my powers. Knowing everything that I know now, I would feel completely unprepared." He paused. "She's completely unprepared, Wyatt."

"I know. And the thing is, so am I."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, that's the chapter! Thanks for reading. Now, you know what to do. :-)


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. :-(

**Authors's Note:** Well, it's up a few days later than I had originally planned, but it's up all the same. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. According to my notes, there are still two more to come before I'll start working on the next story. Be sure to let me know what you think! I appreciate all the reviews. :-)

**Chapter Four**

"How was the funeral?" Piper asked her sons as they entered the kitchen. She pulled a casserole out from the oven, and set it on top of the stove to cool off. She turned around to face her sons, taking off her oven mitts.

"It was a hum-dinger. We closed the place," Wyatt replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He took off his jacket, draped it on the back of a chair, and made a beeline for the fridge.

"Wyatt!" Piper scolded. Sure, her son had his moments, all teenagers do. But generally he was an even-natured boy; sarcasm and brooding was more Chris's style. She was more than surprised by her eldest son's response to her question.

"I'm sorry," Wyatt apologized, removing a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself a glass of iced tea. "It's just . . . it was more difficult than I anticipated." He drummed his fingers against the glass. He looked down at its contents, but suddenly found himself no longer thirsty. "I'm gonna change before I head over to Cassie's," he said, leaving the glass on the counter and exiting the room.

Piper turned to her younger son, who had sat himself down at the kitchen table. "What's with your brother? Did something happen?" She crossed the room and took up the seat next to him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary for a funeral," was the reply. The young man played with the keys to the car he and Wyatt shared, unable to look at his mother.

Piper reached out and placed a hand over her son's. "Chris, look at me." The young man slowly raised his head and directed his gaze at his mother. "What happened?" she repeated the question, her tone soft and comforting.

"It's nothing. We just got to talking, Wyatt and I, about . . . things."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"Just . . . if we were in Cassie's situation." He took a deep breath before continuing. "You know, alone and suddenly with powers and expected to fight evil and everything."

"Oh, Chris, honey." Piper tilted her head to one side and studied her son. She wouldn't deny that was one of her fears, being a victim of what seemed to be the Warren legacy and leaving her children behind to grow up without a mother. And it might have happened, too, had a 22-year-old man from the future not twisted the hands of fate. "I'd be lying if I didn't admit I worried about the same thing from time to time." Her thumb moved in concentric circles in an effort to console her son. "But I know something you don't. Can I tell you a secret?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

Piper leaned forward and whispered in her son's ear, "I've been to the future."

With these words Chris leaned back, his eyes widened in surprise. "You can't just go to the future."

The older woman smiled. "Sometimes you can. And I did. Twice, in fact. And I saw myself past the ripe old age of 80, playing Scrabble with your father, and plenty of grandkids. So you don't need to worry so much."

Chris smiled, mentally picturing the scene his mother described. "Wyatt had kids, huh?"

"Yup." Piper smiled, her son relaxing at her revelation. "And you, too."

In spite of himself the young man chuckled. "I have trouble picturing Wyatt with kids."

"You? What about me?" His mother joined in the laughter. "And I don't want to picture either one of you with kids until you've both graduated, got good jobs and are married."

"What's so funny?" Wyatt asked, re-entering the kitchen.

"Nothing," Chris and Piper replied, composing themselves and trying to subside their giggles.

"Right, nothing," Wyatt repeated, doubtful, but not in a mood to pry any further information out them. He walked over to the stove where casserole was cooling and took a whiff. "Smells good, Mom," he complimented.

"High praise coming from someone who thinks frozen pizza is gourmet cuisine," Piper responded, grinning from ear to ear.

"It beats the food on campus," Wyatt replied, smiling in spite of himself and his previous mood. He crossed the room and pulled a roll of aluminum foil out from a drawer. "Thanks for making this, Mom," he said, covering the casserole with a sheet of foil.

"Oh, don't mention it, sweetie. Just be sure to send our condolences to your friend," she said.

"Yeah, no problem," Wyatt said. He slipped oven mitts on his hands and started to walk out of the kitchen. Halfway to the door he stopped then turned around. He walked towards the kitchen table, set the casserole on it, and leaned over to hug his mother. "I love you, Mom."

Piper smiled and returned the hug. "I love you, too, Wyatt." She pulled back from her son and brushed a few rampant strands of hair from his forehead. "Now go take care of your charge."

"Okay," the young man said, returning the smile. He picked up the casserole and started to walk out of the kitchen. "Oh, and I get the car, Chris," he said, his retreating form orbing the keys to his pocket. Then he telekinetically opened the back door and left the Manor.

* * *

Wyatt Halliwell stood in the hallway, hands in oven mitts, holding a casserole and staring at the door to Cassandra Cole's condo. He was trying to work up the nerve to knock on her door. He had practiced what he was going to say to her in the car, but now that he had arrived at his destination, he was having second thoughts on his tactics. Should he try to trick her into using her power? Or should he just come right out with it and say she's witch? He sighed at his indecision, and ultimately decided to go with his gut, and say whatever felt best at the moment.

He balanced the warm dish on one arm, and knocked on the door with the free one. "Coming!" he heard from within the condo. A moment later the door swung open. Standing in front of him was a woman who appeared to be a few years older than his mother. Her hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back into a severe bun. Her cheeks were flushed, but the expression on her face was stern. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, his voice cracking with nerves. He cleared his throat and offered the older woman a smile. "My name is Wyatt Halliwell. I came to see Cassie."

The woman gave him a once over. "Is she expecting you?"

"No, no, she's not. She's in my brother's physics class. But my family saw her mother's obituary in the paper today and sends their condolences. My mother baked a casserole," he said, holding out the dish to her.

The woman thought it over, and for a minute the young Whitelighter feared she wouldn't let him in. But after a moment she called over her shoulder, "Cassie! You got company!" She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, inviting him inside. "There's a Halliwell here to see you," she said, closing the door. "Make yourself at home," she said to the young man before heading towards the kitchen.

Wyatt looked around the condo's living room while waiting for his charge to appear. It was pretty standard: beige walls, brown couch and arm chair, coffee table and ceiling fan overhead. However, the wall behind the TV caught his eye, and he took a few steps closer to get a better look. Numerous pictures hung on the wall. They varied in size, some hung horizontally and others vertically, but the frames were all the same shade of red. Upon further inspection, he realized they all centered around a baseball team: the Boston Red Sox.

"My parents met at Fenway." Wyatt turned around at the sound of another voice in the room, and found Cassie standing behind him. She was still in her black dress from the funeral, but shoes were absent from her stocking feet. She took a few steps forward and pointed to an 8x10 photo in the center. It was of a man and woman he assumed to be Cassie's parents. Their smiles were wide and their eyes were shining, matching ball caps on their heads. "This was taken on the first anniversary of the day they met." She pointed to another photo. "And this was my first ball game." The same couple was in the photo, but this time there was a baby in a Red Sox onesie sitting on the man's knee. Cassie stared at the photo for a moment, sighed, and then turned to Wyatt. "Thanks for stopping by. Although, I have to admit, when my aunt said a Halliwell was here, I wasn't expecting you."

"Chris wanted to come, but he had class." The lie rolled right off his tongue. "We both went to the service, though. It was nice." He held out the casserole to her. "My mom made this for you. She figured you'd need something to eat."

Cassie eyed the dish, and her eyes began to fill with tears. She sniffled. "Tell her thank you for me," she said. "You must be tired of holding it. Follow me," she instructed, leading the way into the kitchen. She set the oven to warm and opened it.

Wyatt slid the dish in and took off the oven mitts as Cassie closed the door. "It's one of her best," he told her. "It actually tastes better the next day."

"I'll make note of that, and I appreciate the gesture," she told him. "I can't tell you the last time I had a home-cooked meal. The last few months I've been eating either campus or hospital food, neither of which is award-winning."

"Well, you're welcome to eat at my house," Wyatt offered as they returned to the living room. "My mom's a chef, so there's always plenty to go around." When the young woman didn't respond he looked down at his sneakers. After a moment he spoke. "How are you holding up?" he asked softly.

"The last few days have been rough," she replied. She licked her lips nervously. "They've been a bit of blur, too, with funeral arrangements and everything." She sighed, shaking her head slightly as if to clear her mind of the memories of the past few days. "I never would have gotten through it without Aunt Abigail. I just wish she didn't have to go back to Salem tomorrow, but she could only get a few days off from work."

"Salem?"

"Massachusetts," Cassie explained.

"Oh." She was a witch with family in Salem, Massachusetts. Go figure. "What about your . . . " Wyatt started to ask.

"My dad?" Cassie finished his question for him. "He died when I was five. It's just me now," she said. She smiled sadly. "My father's parents died before I was born. Aunt Abigail is the only one left from that side, and she never married or had kids. My mom was an only child, and her parents died a few years ago. It's like my family is going extinct or something." The young woman turned and walked over to sit down on the couch. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I don't mean to be such a downer and lousy host."

"Don't worry about it," Wyatt said, taking a seat next to her. "I didn't come for a party. I just wanted to make sure you're okay, and tell you my family is thinking of you."

"I appreciate it." She dropped her head into her hands, breathing deeply. She lifted her head to look at her guest and ran her fingers through her hair. "I still can't believe she's gone," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," Wyatt said. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around his charge. He felt her body stiffen at the contact, but a moment later it relaxed and she returned the embrace. He squeezed her gently.

"Thanks," Cassie whispered. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "I promise under different circumstances I'm better comp--. What on Earth?" Her jaw dropped in shock as she pulled away from the young man, not believing her eyes.

"What is it?" Wyatt asked, concerned by the expression on his charge's face. She pointed over his shoulder and turned in his seat to see what she was referring to. A demon had shimmered into the living room. His clothing was singed and tattered around the edges, and his smile was sinister. "Stay back," he ordered. He stood up, deliberately placing himself between his charge and the demon.

"No, I thought I'd ask it to join us for tea," Cassie deadpanned.

The demon raised its hand but before it could fire the first shot, Wyatt sent it flying into the wall with a wave of his hand. He looked over his shoulder to check on his charge, but she had ignored his previous order and was making a run for it. "Cassie, no!" he shouted.

The demon, spying his target out in the open, raised a hand. He threw an energy ball towards the young woman.

"Watch out!" Wyatt warned Cassie. He held up his hands, ready to either redirect or freeze the energy ball, but found he didn't have to.

When she saw the energy ball heading her way, Cassie shrieked. She squeezed her eyes shut and held up her hands to block her face, a translucent blue shield emitting from her hands. The energy ball bounced off it, and headed straight for the demon. It shimmered out before the energy ball could make contact though, and instead it hit the wall, leaving a scorch mark.

"Whoa," Wyatt uttered under his breath. When the Elders said Cassie would have a formidable power, they weren't kidding.

Silence filled the room. Suspecting it might be safe, she slowly opened her eyes and lowered her hands. She looked around the room. She and Wyatt were alone again. "What the _Hell_ was that?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief. "What's going on?"

"I'm a witch, Cassie, and so are you."

* * *

Chris removed the loaf of rye from the breadbox on the counter and turned to face the center island, littered with deli meats and fixins'. He was making a sandwich to distract him from his chemistry notes when blue and white orbs appeared across from him. "Hey, Wyatt," he said, without looking up from the slice of bread he was spreading mayo on.

His brother responded with "We got company."

At this, Chris immediately looked up. "Cassie?" he asked, surprised. By his brother's tone, he was expecting a demon to shimmer in.

"Whoa," she said softly. She felt dizzy, like her insides were churning, and she was suddenly finding it terribly difficult to keep her balance.

"Here you go," Wyatt said, pulling out a kitchen chair and helping her sit down. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she replied, her complexion a pale shade of green.

Chris smiled and filled a glass with tap water. "That's a typical reaction, when someone orbs for the first time," he explained, kneeling down and handing her the glass. "Here. This should help."

Cassie took the glass from him, grateful, and began to drink. After a few sips and deep breaths, she started to get her bearings. It was then that Chris's words sank in. "Wait. You know about this?" she asked, referring to Wyatt's magic. The look on her study partner's face was all the answer she needed. "Of course you do. And you . . . do you . . . " Her voice trailed off, not quite comfortable with the words 'powers' and 'magic' just yet.

"Yeah," he replied, rising to a standing position. "It's genetic," he said, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. There was an awkward pause, and after a few moments he decided to break the silence. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

"That's the understatement of the year," Cassie muttered under her breath.

Wyatt chuckled at his charge's frankness. When she looked at him questioningly, not understanding what he found humorous about the situation, he stifled his giggles. "Look, Cassie," he said, pulling out a chair for himself and sitting across from her. "I can only imagine how overwhelmed you're feeling, trying to sort through it all." He took one of her hands in his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "But trust me when I tell you it's very real." He took a deep breath and licked his lips before continuing. "I'm not asking anything of you. You don't have to use your power or anything. But a demon _is_ after you, and that's serious. So, please, let me protect you."

The young woman looked at the man sitting across from her, his eyes pleading with her to agree. She took a moment to think it over. The truth was, if she hadn't seen this thing, this demon, with her own two eyes, she would have had the men in the white coats come for Wyatt. But she _had_ seen it. And as crazy as it was, it was _real_. She hated to think what would've happened if she'd been alone when the creature appeared, and as long as it was still roaming out there, she wasn't safe. That much she knew. Finally, she nodded her head, letting Wyatt know she accepted his offer of protection.

"Thank you," Wyatt said, offering his charge a small smile. "You made the right choice."

"The way I see it, I didn't have much of one," Cassie said. She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Just because she agreed to hang around didn't mean she'd have to like it.

"She's got a point there," Chris chimed in. He walked back around the center island, and resumed his sandwich making. "Any idea what kind of demon we're dealing with here?" he asked his brother.

"Well, I'd like to look in the Book to be sure, but it looked like a demonic power broker to me," Wyatt said, rising from his seat at the table and beginning to pace the length of the kitchen.

"A demonic power broker? Are you sure? Power brokers typically go after other demons. What would he want with Cassie?" Chris asked, abandoning his sandwich again as concern for his friend took over.

"I can't be sure of anything until I check the Book," Wyatt replied. "But my best guess would be he wants Cassie's power."

"What is it?" Chris asked, directing this question towards the new witch. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Truth was, she had no idea how she stopped that ball of light the demon threw at her, much less what the name for it was.

"Deflection," Wyatt answered for her.

Chris let out a low whistle. "Deflection. Whoa. That's major."

There was a moment's silence while the brothers let this information sink in. Their silence unnerved the woman, and she mustered up the courage to speak. "Wait. I thought you said I was a witch," she said, pointing at Wyatt. "If this demon is after me, doesn't that mean . . . I'm a demon, too?" Her voice shook as she finished her sentence.

"No. Absolutely not," Wyatt said, sitting back down again and taking her hands in his again.

"But my power . . . " Cassie started to say.

Wyatt immediately interrupted her. "It's rare, that's all. Not many witches have it. And it's powerful. You can basically stop anything that's thrown your way once it's fully developed. If evil acquired your power, it would be unstoppable."

"So the broker either wants the power for himself, or to sell it to the highest bidder," Chris added, walking to stand next to where he brother was sitting. "But that in _no way_ implies you're evil. Nothing could be further from the truth."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Cassie, her voice filled with doubt.

"Because evil doesn't have guardian angels," Wyatt replied, offering his charge a reassuring smile. When she gave a soft smile in return, he took it as a sign to continue. "Come on," he said, standing up and pulling Cassie into a standing position as well. "We've got a demon to vanquish."

The trio moved through the house, Wyatt leading the way, until they reached the attic. It was messy as always, despite Piper's best attempts to keep it neat and clean. The boys, on the other hand, were more lax with where potion bottles and ingredients were discarded. The way they saw it, any efforts to keep the attic clean were futile, since the constant vanquishes that took place there seemed to keep it in shambles.

"Okay," Wyatt said, taking charge. "The first thing I want to do is check the book, make sure that really was a demonic power broker. Chris, we'll probably need a potion or two."

"Got it," Chris said, walking over to the table they had a cauldron set up on, browsing through the herbs left there.

"Come here, Cassie," Wyatt said, extending a hand and offering the young witch a place beside him in front of the podium. When she was next to him, he opened the Book of Shadows and began to flip through its pages. "This is the Book of Shadows. It's our family's book of spells and potions. Pretty much every magical being our family has met is in here. Do you remember what the demon looked liked?" he asked. Cassie nodded her head. "Good. Then let's look through the book and see if we can identify him."

The twosome scanned the book for several minutes before Cassie pointed to one of the illustrations, shouting "Stop! That's him."

"So what are we up against?" Chris asked, setting aside some herbs that could be used in your everyday garden-variety vanquishing potion.

"A power broker, just like I thought," Wyatt replied, the Book of Shadows opened to the entry on the demon.

"I think I'll go with two potions, then," Chris said. "One to momentarily stop the demon from using any powers he's acquired, which should give us enough time to throw the vanquishing potion."

"Chemistry major, huh?" Cassie said, walking around to stand next to Chris, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, and her stance guarded.

"It always did come easy to me," he said, offering the skeptical girl a smile. It waned, though, when she didn't smile in return. "I guess I take after Mom," he surmised.

"Hmm." Cassie turned to the older Halliwell. "And what about you?"

"I like to think I march to the beat of my own drummer," Wyatt said thoughtfully.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the young witch asked, her tone a mixture of impatience and confusion.

"It means he has a lot of firepower, and is mostly known for flying by the seat of his pants," Chris interjected, unable to keep a slight amount of bitterness out of his voice.

Cassie exhaled loudly and dropped her head to stare at the floor. This was all too much to take in. What was she doing here? How could she be a witch? And how could her mother have not told her? It was so overwhelming, like a wave crashing down, almost pulling her under. She quickly walked over to the old Victorian couch and sat down, putting her head between her knees.

"Are you okay?" Wyatt asked. He quickly crossed the attic and sat down next to her, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, returning to an upright position. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. She had so many questions to ask and she didn't know where to start. Finally she decided to go with the one that had been weighing on her mind since the demon appeared in her living room. "How long have you known? About me, that is."

"That you're a witch?" Wyatt asked. When Cassie nodded her head he continued. "Since this morning. I've known for a few days that a witch would be coming into her powers, but I didn't know it was you until this morning."

"Did you know that demon was going to attack? Is that why you showed up at my condo with a casserole?"

"No, to both questions." The young Whitelighter took a moment to collect his thoughts before explaining his actions. "The Halliwells . . . " he sighed. "Let me put it this way, we know what it's like to lose family members, especially my mom. We just wanted to be there for you, make sure you were okay. It was a coincidence that I was there when the demon appeared, although it's lucky that I was."

"How so? He could've had my powers. I don't want them," Cassie said defiantly.

"The thing is, he'd have to kill you in order to get them," Wyatt explained.

"Oh," Cassie said, looking at her lap. "So I'm going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life now? Running from demons?"

"Hey," Wyatt said, placing his fingers under his charge's chin, raising her head so he could look her in the eye. "There is _so_ much more to being a witch. It's a gift. Your powers are a gift, passed down from your mother, and probably for generations. It's a legacy you've been asked to continue, to protect the innocent from evil."

"And while I'm protecting the innocent, who is protecting me?"

"That's where I come in," Wyatt replied. "As your Whitelighter, I'm here to guide, protect, and heal you."

"Heal me?" Cassie's voice was filled with surprise.

"Yes, but only magical injuries," he quickly added. "I can't cure colds or anything like that."

"I see." Cassie stood up and began to pace the attic. This was all too much. "How much longer do I have to hide out here?"

"Until the demon comes," Chris answered, adding a final ingredient to the vanquishing potion. A plume of smoke rose from the cauldron. "Well, the vanquish potion is done," he announced. He used a turkey baster to fill a vial with his concoction. "I just need another minute and the other potion will be done, too." He walked up to where his friend was pacing, and placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Here," he said, handing her the vial.

"What's this for?" she asked, looking at the vial in her hand.

"After I throw the binding potion at the demon, you throw this one. He'll blow up, and we'll be free to continue with our day. I got a chem exam to study for," he said, filling up the last vial with the other potion.

"You can do this, Cassie," Wyatt said, moving to stand behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder.

She looked down at the vial in her hand again. "If you're sure . . ."

"All set," Chris said, holding up the filled vial. "Now all we need--"

But the young man never got to finish that sentence. The power broker demon shimmered in at that exact moment, and when he saw the vial in the young man's hand, he threw an energy ball at him. Upon impact, Chris flew up into the air and across the room, the potion vial smashing onto the floor.

"No!" Wyatt shouted. He looked at the table, a plume of smoke still rising from his brother's binding potion. With a wave of his arm, the entire cauldron flew at the demon, dumping the entire contents on him. "Now, Cassie!"

With fear in her eyes the young woman looked at her friend, lying on the floor unconscious. She turned to face the demon, the resolve set in her face. She gritted her teeth and threw the potion. Upon impact, the demon erupted into flames, leaving a scorch mark on the floor. "Chris!" Cassie shouted, running over to him when it was over. She placed two fingers on his neck. "He has a pulse."

Wyatt was immediately at his brother's side. He placed his hands over him and a soft, yellow glow appeared. After a few minutes, the glow disappeared and Chris's eyes slowly opened. "How do you feel?" Wyatt asked.

"Ugh. Like I've been hit with an energy ball," Chris replied, struggling to sit up. Cassie helped him, and at her touch he asked her, "Did we get the demon?"

"Yeah," Wyatt replied, studying his brother to make sure he was, in fact, all right. "We got him."

"Congratulations on your first vanquish," Chris said to Cassie, offering her a small smile.

"You did good," Wyatt added.

"Yeah, well, then how come I don't feel so good?" she asked. And before either boy could respond, she stood up and ran out of the attic.

* * *

"Aunt Abigail, how well did you know my mother?" Cassie asked the older woman. Since Catherine Cole had passed away, her sister-in-law had been staying at the condo. She had flown in from the east coast to spend time with and comfort the new orphan. The two were cleaning up from dinner when Cassie asked her question.

"As well as anybody," Abigail responded, looking at her niece questioningly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Cassie replied, picking the folded dishtowel up off the counter and shaking it out. She removed a dinner plate from dish drain and began to dry it. "I just wonder . . . if there was anything I didn't know about her. Anything she didn't get to tell me. These last few months, everything we discussed was medical. I'm afraid that'll be all I remember of her, her illness, instead of the person she was."

"Oh, I doubt that," Abigail assured her, putting an arm around her niece and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "All you have to do is look in the mirror to know what kind of person your mother was. She raised you to be strong, thoughtful, smart, and caring, just like she was." The older woman tilted her head to the side, deep in thought. Slowly, a smile appeared on her face. "Of course, there is one other little thing."

"Oh?" Cassie prompted, trying her hardest to sound nonchalant.

"You must like to suffer, to become a Red Sox fan like your parents were," Abigail said, chuckling. She wasn't much of a baseball fan, but her brother and sister-in-law were. In fact, they met at a game. And year after year, they spent October lamenting another loss, pinning their hopes on 'next year.' "It's like some form of cruel punishment, to root for them and not see them win in your lifetime."

"Hey!" Cassie said in mock indignation. "They won in 2004," she defended her team.

"Yeah, and they haven't been to a World Series since. Besides, that hardly counts, dear. You were an infant."

"Details, details," Cassie said, smiling her first genuine smile since her mother passed away.

A knock at the door interrupted their banter. "I'll get it," Aunt Abigail offered, heading for the door. "Who is it?" she asked.

"It's Wyatt. Is Cassie there?"

"I got it Aunt Abigail," Cassie said, before the older woman could open the door. She dropped the dishtowel and headed for the door. "Why don't you go finish packing?" she suggested, grabbing a hold of the doorknob.

Abigail gave her niece the once-over. Something was definitely up. Against her better judgment she decided to let the young woman handle it. She nodded then retreated to her sister-in-law's bedroom to pack her suitcase.

When Cassie was sure her aunt was out of earshot, she opened the door. "What do you want?" she asked, not even trying to hide the disdain in her voice.

Wyatt's jaw dropped in shock. This was _not_ the reaction he was expecting. Sure, he figured she'd be upset from the vanquish and Chris getting injured. But he didn't figure some of her anger and reluctance would be directed at him. "I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were okay."

"Well, there haven't been any other attacks, if that's what you're getting at."

"Actually, it's not." When she didn't make a move to open the door further or invite him in he asked, "May I come in?"

"No, I'd rather you didn't. I think one visit from you is about all I can handle." She leaned against the door jam, arms crossed, letting her caller know he would not be crossing the threshold tonight, or maybe ever again.

Wyatt sighed. "Look, Cassie--"

"No, save it," she instructed, holding up a hand to interrupt him. "I did what I had to do; the demon is gone and I let you protect me. But it's over, and so is all of this witch nonsense. In case you haven't noticed, I buried my mother today, and now you want me to do something that could land me right next to her. And I just can't. You and your brother may get some sort of kick out it, but it's not for me. So why don't you guide and protect someone else?"

And with those words Cassie closed the door, shutting Wyatt Halliwell out of her condo, and hopefully out of her life as well.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That's it! _Please_ let me know what you think and submit a review. :-)


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I own nada. (Just in case you forgot. I didn't.)

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry this update is so late. It was a long time coming. Unfortunately I had the flu, writer's block, and then life in general kept me from writing. The good news is there's only one more chapter, which will be up by the end of the week. Hooray! So please review and let me know what you think!

**Chapter Five**

Wyatt stormed into the Manor, slamming the front door behind him. "Damnit!" he exclaimed, disgusted and frustrated with his failure to get through to his charge. Introducing magic to her had been easier than he anticipated, thanks to the power broker demon. She had helped him and Chris vanquish the demon, but had not reacted well to all that had transpired in the attic.

He continued to storm through the Manor, making his way through the conservatory and out the French doors to the patio. He paced the length of the cobblestone area and back, reviewing recent events in an effort to blow of some steam. Cassie had stepped up to the plate and she hit a homerun her first at bat, vanquishing the demon. But instead of that giving her an incentive to continue, she wanted to quit 'team good.' He let out a frustrated growl, remembering her reaction when he tried to check up on her. He did not take kindly to having the door shut in his face. He flopped down onto a nearby lounge chair in dramatic fashion, arms and legs spread eagle. "This is useless," he said aloud.

"Since when did you become such a defeatist?"

Wyatt opened his eyes at the sound of his father's voice. He raised himself into a sitting position. "Hey, Dad," he greeted the older man.

"I heard you slam the door before. What's going on?" he asked as he sat down on the chair next to his son, his voice filled with concern and worry. Wyatt had his mother temper; that was no surprise. But it was unnerving to see him laying there, looking defeated and vulnerable. Just like his mother, he was a fighter. He didn't know the meaning of the word defeat. Or so Leo had thought.

"It's my charge," the young man said, feeling a bit ashamed and unable to meet his father's gaze. His father had been so proud when he first heard the call from the Elders, but so far he was falling flat on his face in his first attempt at becoming a Whitelighter.

"A little reluctant to go demon hunting?" Leo asked, an all-knowing smile forming on his aging, but still handsome, features.

"Yeah, you could say that," Wyatt responded. "And the thing is, I can't say I blame her. She's lost both of her parents, so I understand why she's not keen on putting herself in harm's way." He ran his fingers through his hair, and gave a small tug out of frustration. "But she won't even listen to me. What do I do?"

"First, you stop feeling sorry for yourself," Leo instructed, his voice stern. When his son's eyes widened with surprise at this statement, he continued, knowing he had his undivided attention. "You're not the first Whitelighter to be assigned to a stubborn witch and doubt himself, and you won't be the last. The pity party is helping no one."

"But, I--" Wyatt started to defend himself.

Leo held up a hand to silence his eldest. "No, you asked, so let me continue," he interrupted. "It's a common mistake to forget that your charge has a _choice_ in all this. Yes, Wyatt," he said, seeing the expression on his son's face, "a choice. I know it seems hard to believe but these are choices this whole family has made. I _chose_ to become a Whiteligher, and I _chose_ to fall from grace. Aunt Paige _chose_ to accept her powers and reconstitute the Charmed Ones. Your mother, Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe _chose_ to continue the fight, even after they defeated the Source and were offered the opportunity to live life as mortals. And you and Chris _choose_ to continue on that path and follow in their footsteps. Right now your charge is faced with the same decision, and deserves the time, space and respect to make it in her own time, just like you choose to leave Excalibur in the stone in the attic."

Wyatt's head had been lowered as he stared as his sneakers, letting his father's words sink in, but his head snapped up at that last statement. "What are you talking about? Excalibur has _nothing_ to do with this."

"Doesn't it?" Leo asked, an eyebrow raised, an indication he was questioning his son's denial. "It's sitting in the attic, waiting for you, whenever you feel ready to take on the responsibility, and your mother and I have never forced the issue on you. We accept your choice not to use it at this time -- or ever, if that's the case. The same goes for your charge; you can't force her or allow her to feel like she's being forced to accept this. She has the right to choose to not be a witch."

Wyatt nodded, understanding where his father was coming from. He had grown up with magic his whole life, and couldn't imagine not having it. But he did understand what it was like to be faced with a responsibility you weren't sure you were ready for, or even wanted for that matter. And that was his bond with his charge. Hopefully she would allow him to get that point across. "And what if she chooses not to be a witch? Demons will still come after her."

"Will they?"

"Yeah, unless I bind her powers . . . Wait, I can't do that, can I? Bind her powers?" He felt safe in thinking that was _not_ the reason the Elders assigned this young woman to him, and they would be less than thrilled if that was the end result.

"You're a Whitelighter, Wyatt, and your job, first and foremost, is to guide and protect. And because you're my son, I know you'll do whatever you feel is necessary to accomplish that. Why don't you think on that?" Leo said. He patted his son's knee before standing and returning to the Manor.

Wyatt leaned back into the lounge chair, his father's words running through his mind. For days he had wondered how he would approach his charge and introduce magic, seeing himself as a wealth of knowledge since he had grown up around it. He had envisioned more of a teacher-student relationship than one where they would be equals. But the more he thought about it, he realized his father was right. It all came down to choices, and perhaps he had more in common with his charge than he originally thought.

* * *

Cassie sighed as she hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder, surveying everyone around her as she crossed the Quad. It was a sunny Monday and her first day back on campus since her mother had died. The area was a flurry of activity, but she felt detached from it all. Her aunt had returned to the East Caost so she had the condo to herself, and without the hospital to go to she felt anxious and uncomfortable at home. She came to school early, hoping to get her mind off her loneliness and grief, but instead it felt amplified. It didn't matter where she went or how many people she surrounded herself with, the bottom line was she'd still be alone.

She sat down on a bench and placed her bag between her feet. She leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. She continued to soak up the rays until a shadow hung over her. She cracked an eye open and found herself frowning at the sight. "You lost?" she asked.

"Seeing as I take classes here, no, I'm quite familiar with the campus," Wyatt replied. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Would you go away if I said yes?" Cassie asked.

"No," the young man responded, sitting down next to his charge. "So, how are you holding up?"

Cassie sighed. "I managed to get out of bed this morning. That's really the best I can say for myself." She kept her eyes closed and her face in the direction of the sun, wishing the warmth could wash away her sadness.

"My Aunt Paige said it'll never be okay, but it will get better," Wyatt offered the words of encouragement, tilting his head back and enjoying the sun's rays as well.

"Oh? And what would she know about it?"

"Her parents died in a car accident when she was in high school," the Whitelighter explained.

With those words Cassie's eyes snapped open. She sat up straight and turned to face Wyatt. He was still leaned back on the bench, his eyes closed, a feeling of content on his face, the rays of the sun giving him an angelic glow. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . . your grandparents . . . " Her voice trailed off as she stumbled over the words, the apology dieing on her lips.

"No, they weren't my grandparents. My aunt was adopted," Wyatt explained, opening his eyes and adjusting in his seat. "She found my mom and Aunt Phoebe after Aunt Prue died." He raised his arms to stretch, feeling like a lazy cat in the sun. "But since you mentioned it, only my mother's father is still alive. The rest of my grandparents died before I was born."

"I know what that's like," Cassie commented, thinking of her own family tree. "Do you have any cousins at least?"

"Yeah, six of them, and five are girls," Wyatt said, smiling.

"Just swimming in a pool of estrogen, aren't ya?" The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a small smile.

"No kidding. I was the first male born into the family," Wyatt told her.

"No!" Cassie's jaw dropped. "That can't be!"

"I'm afraid it is. The Warren line was all female until I was born."

"The Warren line?" Cassie asked, a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought your last name was Halliwell."

"It is. But Melinda Warren was the first witch in my family, and since the family was all women, the surname changed many times. My great-grandmother changed her last name to Halliwell when she married her first husband. My grandmother and mom kept the name, so . . . " He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say 'and here we are.'

"And your Dad doesn't mind, you not having his last name?"

"Nah. At least, I don't think so. He always said good magic respected the name 'Halliwell' and evil feared it, so it would be best to be my last name, as well. I was named after him, though. His last name is Wyatt." He opened his school bag and removed a pack of gum. He popped a piece into his mouth, and held out the pack to his charge, offering her a piece. "What about you? Named after anyone special?" he asked.

Cassie removed a piece of gum from the pack and smiled. "Not exactly. My mother's name was Catherine and my father's was Cameron. So they thought it would be neat if my name started with a C, too. I don't know how they decided on Cassandra, though." She popped the piece of gum into her mouth.

Wyatt chuckled. "Sounds like my family. Many generations of P names."

"P names?"

"Yeah. Penny, Patty, Prudence, Piper, Phoebe and Paige," he counted them off on his fingers. "And I know there are more." He smiled. "I don't know what was so special about the letter P, but I am glad that particular family tradition ended with Chris and I," he mused.

"Names are important," Cassie told him and she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Possessions, things, they come and go. But a name . . . it's with you forever, describes who are you. And sometimes they become self-fulfilling prophecies."

"Self-fulfilling prophecies?" Wyatt asked, his interest piqued. "How so?"

"Well," she went on, raising her head so she could look the young man in the eye. "Take your name for example. It means brave, strong, a powerful warrior. And you'd have to be, to do what you do." When he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her statement she added, "You know, the hocus pocus stuff."

The Whitelighter laughed. "Well, that's one way of putting it." He leaned in and nudged her with his shoulder. "And what about you? If I'm not mistaken, Cassandra was a Greek Goddess."

"Daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy, and blessed with the gift of prophecy," Cassie explained.

"Impressive."

"Nah," she replied. "Old hat for a history major. And I've always had an interest in the origin of names." She thought for a moment before speaking. "In my case, though, my name hardly describes me. I'm not a goddess and I don't have the gift of prophecy."

"Oh, you never know. There's always a chance that could develop," Wyatt told her as he looked out across the Quad, squinting his eyes from the light of the sun. After a few moments of silence he spoke again. "That is, if you're willing to see where magic leads you."

Cassie sighed. "Look, Wyatt--"

"Wait. Let me say this first," he interrupted her. "Believe it or not, I understand your doubts and hesitation." When she opened her mouth to protest he held up a hand to silence her. "No, really, I do. I know I grew up with magic and am more comfortable with it and all, but that doesn't mean I don't know what it's like to be faced with a responsibility you're not sure you can handle, and wonder if it was really meant for you." He reached out and took her hand in his. "I'll be here for you, whatever you decide. If you want to go back to being powerless, we can do that. I can bind your powers like your mother did. Or, if you decide you want to see what magic has to offer, help make the world a safer place and vanquish some demons in the process, I'm here to guide and protect you. And truthfully, I can't say I mind kicking some demon ass." A small laugh escaped her lips at his last statement, and he smiled. "Just know that whatever you decide, you're not alone."

Cassie looked down at their joined hands before nodding her head. "Thanks," she whispered.

* * *

Cassie stood on the front porch of the old, red Victorian on Prescott Street, fidgeting nervously. A clean casserole dish and oven mitts in hand, she was debating whether to ring the bell or just leave the items on the porch and make a run for it. She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes towards the heavens. "Chicken," she taunted herself. She sighed one more time before swallowing hard then ringing the doorbell.

The front door swung open, revealing an older man with hair graying around the temples. "May I help you?" he asked with a friendly smile.

"Umm, yeah," Cassie responded, and inwardly cringed at her lack of eloquence. "I'm just returning Mrs. Halliwell's casserole dish and oven mitts," she said, holding out the items to the man before her.

"Sure. Won't you come in?" he asked, gesturing for her to step in from the front porch, and after a moment's hesitation, she did. "Piper!" he called.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wyatt," Cassie said, not wanting to appear rude as she entered the Manor. It was clear Wyatt took after his father in build, stature, and coloring. The exception, though, was the eyes. Chris was the son with his father's eyes. "I'm Cassie."

"Hello, Cassie. And please, call me Leo," he instructed, shutting the door. "Piper!" he called out again. "Please, make yourself at home," he said, leading the young woman into the living room.

"Geez, Leo, what's with the yelling?" Piper's voice floated into the living room, increasing in volume as she drew nearer. "You know how I feel about raised voices in the house. You're as bad as the boys." The Halliwell matriarch walked into the room, drying her hands on a towel. She came to a stop when she saw the young woman sitting on her couch and smiled. "You must be Cassie," she said.

"Hello, Mrs. Halliwell," the young woman said, returning the greeting. "I just wanted to return these and thank you for the meal," she said, handing the older woman her casserole dish and oven mitts.

"Please, call me Piper," the matriarch instructed. "Do me a favor and put these in the kitchen," she said, handing Leo the items. "And while you're in there, can you give the sauce a quick stir, please?"

"Sure thing," Leo said. He knew his wife had been interested in speaking with his son's charge ever since she found out her mother died. Perhaps it would be therapeutic for the both of them. He nodded his head at the twosome. "Nice to meet you, Cassie."

"Nice to meet you . . . Leo," Cassie responded, smiling despite her hesitance at addressing him by his first name. That's just not how she was raised. But she felt more at ease when he returned her grin before leaving the room. She turned to the woman standing next to her. "Thank you again for the casserole, Mrs. . . . Piper," she corrected herself. "It was nice to have a home cooked meal."

"Don't mention it." Piper sat down on the couch and gestured for the young woman to do the same. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm . . ." Cassie was about to say 'hanging in there,' which had become her standard response to that question since her mother died. But here was this woman, who was also familiar with losing a loved one, asking how she was, and so she decided to give honesty a try. "A bit of a wreck," she admitted, exhaling. "Some days . . . I feel . . . " She sighed and shook her head slightly. "Really, I just can't wrap my brain around it all. Everything happened so fast," she rambled, her hands waving as frantically as her words, seeming to emphasize how quickly all the changes in her life had transpired.

"I know this probably isn't what you want to hear, but it's to be expected, everything you're feeling." Piper nodded her head, offering reassurance and support.

Cassie nodded. "That's what Wyatt keeps telling me, but I don't know. I just . . . " At a loss for words, she dropped her head to stare intently at her thumbs while she twiddled them.

Piper sighed, studying the young woman, her heart aching for her. Not a day went by that she didn't stop and think about her mother or Prue. And it took her a long time to learn that instead of feeling pain and hurt from it all, it was better to appreciate everything, everyone, and every single day that much more. But it's hard to come to that realization when you're going through it alone.

The young woman sitting next to her reminded her so much of herself. Motherly instinct kicking in, she reached out and touched Cassie's chin, raising her head so their eyes could meet. "You know, I could be biased because he's my son and all," she said with a smile, "but give it a shot and listen to him." She tilted her head to one side, pointing towards another set of doors. "He's working on a project in the conservatory." She rose from the couch. "You're welcome to stay for dinner," she offered with a smile.

"Thanks," Cassie replied. And after a moment's hesitation accepted the offer, nodding her assent. "I think I will."

"Good. I'm just going to go check on everything and set an extra place at the table," Piper said, standing up. "I'm glad you decided to stay," she said before leaving the room.

Cassie turned to face the entry to the conservatory and inhaled deeply. She began to tap the heel of her right foot up and down at a rapid pace, her nerves beginning to take over. Her conversation with Wyatt on campus had been on permanent repeat in her mind. And now that she'd made a decision, instead of feeling less anxious about it all she felt it in spades. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said softly, "Here goes nothing," before walking into the room.

Wyatt was sitting at a table, his back to the entryway, and completely unaware he had company. Cassie could tell by his posture that he was work intently, his concentration devoted to the project before him. She took a step closer and saw it was a model of a Victorian house. Even with her untrained eye, she could see the detail in the work, and was impressed that something so small could be so exquisite.

"How long were you planning to stand there?" Wyatt asked, his deep, soothing voice cutting through the silence.

Cassie jumped in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you even knew I was here."

"I sensed you enter the room. One of the perks of being your Whitelighter," he explained. He sat back to allow his charge a better look at his project. "Any thoughts?" he asked.

"Pretty impressive," Cassie complimented his handiwork.

"Thanks, although this isn't really how I envisioned it."

"What's it for?"

"My internship. I'm studying to be an architect. I have a particular interest in 'old' houses, not surprising considering I grew up in the Manor, I guess," he said, scratching his head as he scrutinized his work. "So I'm working on a project where the house will have the craftsmanship and charm of the early 20th century, but with some modern conveniences like closet space."

"There's a market for 'old' homes?"

"Everything moves in cycles, and I think we're about due to revisit this architectural era." He looked up. "So, what brings you here?"

"I was just returning your mom's casserole dish and oven mitts," Cassie explained. She pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen, as if that was somehow proof of her visit. She paused for a moment before continuing. "She invited me to stay for dinner," she said softly.

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I am." When Wyatt didn't responded, instead resuming his work, Cassie took in her surroundings. The room was bright and airy, with plenty of potted plants. There was a definite warmth to the space, and not just from the steady stream of sunshine. She slowly walked around, observing the stained-glass windows and French doors leading out to the cobblestone patio. Then she spied a beautiful dollhouse sitting on the table of a bistro carefully placed in the corner of the room. "Did you build this too?" she asked her Whitelighter, pointing to the replica of the Manor.

"No, my great-grandmother made that," Wyatt explained. He abandoned his project and walked over to stand next to his charge and admire Grams' handiwork. "Although we suspect she had some magical assistance."

"Magic, huh?" It just seemed to be everywhere. And if she chose not to use her powers, to not be a witch, could she continue 'business as usual' knowing what is out there? "Can't seem to get away from it. Is it even possible?"

"We've all tried at some point. But my family's learned that you can't run from or deny your destiny, or who you are for that matter. We've come to embrace it, some of us begrudgingly, but we've embraced it nevertheless."

She turned to look at the young man standing beside her. He was returning her gaze, and offered her a gentle smile. She looked into his blue eyes, and saw nothing but compassion and support. It was true what he had said earlier; she wasn't alone. And it was because of that realization she was able to sum up the courage to ask, "Can you show me how?"

Wyatt's smile grew brighter. "I thought you'd never ask."

**Author's Note:** One chapter to go. _Please_ let me know what you think so far.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Charmed_.

**Author's Note:** See, I kept my word and am updating the story at the end of the week. Yes, it's coming to a close, but the adventures of Wyatt, Chris, and Cassie don't have to. Let me know if you'd like to read more! Reviews and feedback will be an incentive to start writing the next story. ::hint, hint::

**Chapter Six**

The dining room table had been cleared and the boys and Cassie were in the kitchen on 'dish duty.' Cassie stood at the sink, passing the dishes to Chris to dry once they were clean. He, in turn, passed them to Wyatt to put away. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Cassie summoned the nerve to speak. "You ever . . . use magic . . . for things like this?" she asked, clearly referring to the pile of dishes on the counter, waiting to be cleaned.

Wyatt added another clean dish to the stack and walked over to stand next to Cassie. "Well . . . I'd like to say we never do, but that wouldn't be true." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the counter. "We slip occasionally; we wouldn't be human if we didn't. But as a rule, no, we don't. To use our powers like that, for personal gain, goes against the most basic of Wiccan rules."

"And what happens," Cassie asked, handing a dish to Chris to dry then turning off the water, abandoning the task, "if you break that rule?" She turned to Wyatt, her Whitelighter, with her interest piqued and looking for guidance. Still overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the last few days, she wondered why she hadn't thought to ask if there were any rules before.

"All kinds of things," Chris said, abandoning his task as well. He dropped the dishtowel on the counter and walked over to stand next to his brother. "Spells can backfire, not work the way you expect or want them to."

"Or, if a pattern of behavior continues," Wyatt interrupted, "you can lose your powers. Like our Aunt Phoebe did."

"Your aunt lost her powers?" Cassie asked in disbelief, jaw dropping.

"Just temporarily," Wyatt went on to explain. "She took advantage of them, used them to serve her own personal needs instead of saving innocents. So the Elders suspended her powers. She was still a witch and could cast spells, but she didn't have use of her active powers." He started to put away the backlog of dishes on the counter, but stopped when he saw Cassie standing as still as a statue, her jaw slightly slack, surprised at the information she just received. "She eventually got them back, though," he quickly added, noting the overwhelmed expression on his charge's face.

Cassie turned to face the sink again, hoping the task of washing dishes would help her digest all this information. "So many rules, conditions . . . I don't know how I'm going to keep it all straight." The young witch closed her eyes, trying to find some equilibrium between her old life -- her normal life -- and the powers and witchcraft that were suddenly fighting for a place in it.

"You'll learn," Wyatt said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, a gesture meant to reassure his charge.

Without a word Cassie resumed her chore, and the boys, taking their cue from her, followed suit. They continued to work, quickly and quietly, until her voice cut through the silence. "I just . . . I wish my mom was here to explain this all to me. Teach me the rules, to use my power. Heck, I'd settle for an explanation as to why she bound them to begin with. I'm just so in the dark with all this Wicca crap." She threw the sponge into the sink filled with soapy water in frustration, suds rising up to escape and some landing in her hair. How could her mother have raised her, heck, even looked at her _every single day_, and not _once_ mention being a witch?

"Hey, this isn't crap; it's your destiny," said Wyatt, his tone firm as he stopped what he was doing to face his charge. The serious expression on his face softened, though, when he saw her shoulders slumped, her head hanging dejectedly. "But I understand how you feel."

"Do you?" Cassie asked, her voice sharp. What did these two young men know anyway? They had both their parents. They grew up with powers and witchcraft. No matter what they said or claimed, they couldn't possibly know or understand what she was going through.

"Well, no," Wyatt admitted. "But I can imagine." When Cassie refused to meet his gaze, standing in silence in response, he turned to his brother, wondering if he was thinking along the same lines. Chris made eye contact, nodding his assent.

"Come on," Wyatt said, taking Cassie's hand. "There's something we need to show you," he explained, leading her out of the kitchen towards the stairs, with Chris bringing up the rear.

"But, the dishes . . . " Cassie started to protest, taken aback by this sudden shift in direction.

"It can wait," Chris replied. "This is more important."

* * *

(Background Song: "Now Comes the Night," Rob Thomas)

"I'll get the candles, you find the spell," Wyatt said, taking charge. He walked over to an old trunk and removed four white pillar candles. He placed them in a circle in the center of the room and lit each one.

Chris took Cassie's hand, and led her over to the podium the Book of Shadows called home. He opened it and began to quickly thumb through it, searching for one spell in particular. "Got it," he said, calling Wyatt over. "Stand right here," he instructed Cassie, steering her to the center of the podium by her shoulders, "and close your eyes. Give us your hands."

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, and closed her eyes. She held out a hand to each of the boys, Chris on her left and Wyatt on her right. Their hands felt warm compared to her cold, clammy ones. They shook slightly with nerves, and Wyatt gave her a reassuring squeeze. They stood in silence for a moment, and then the brothers began to speak.

_Hear these words,  
Hear my cry,  
Spirit from the other side,  
Come to me, I summon thee  
Cross now the great divide._

A swirl of white lights appeared in the center of the circle. When they settled, the ghost of Catherine Cole appeared. "Blessed be," she said.

At the sound of her mother's voice, Cassie's eyes flew open. "Mom?" The young woman was hopeful, but how could it be? There was no mistaking the disbelief in her voice.

"Oh, Cassie," Catherine said. She knew why she was summoned, and while she was happy to see her daughter again, these were not the circumstances she would have chosen for a reunion. "How are you?"

"How am I?" The young woman's jaw went slack with surprise. "Mom, are you for real? How am I? You're dead! How do you think I am?" She abandoned her post behind the podium between the Halliwell brothers to pace the space of attic floor in front on her mother.

"I . . . I . . . " the older woman stammered, at a loss for words. Of course now it seemed silly to ask her daughter how she was, and she offered a simple "Sorry." She floated in her candlelit circle watching her daughter pace for a minute before speaking again. "The service was lovely," she said softly.

"Mom!" Cassie admonished.

"Well, it was." Catherine sighed. "I'm sorry, Cassie. I don't really know what to say. I wasn't expecting to be seeing you so soon. There are rules, you know, about summoning loved ones. You shouldn't have been able to summon me."

"I didn't," the young woman said. She ceased pacing and turned to face her mother. "Wyatt and Chris did."

"Boys," Catherine scolded.

"Don't, Mom. Don't lecture them, because I'm glad they summoned you. You mention these rules, but why didn't you tell me about them?" she asked, her voice filled with hurt. "You should have told me I'm a . . . a . . . "

"A witch? Oh, I wanted to, Baby. I really wanted to. I knew I had to. But . . . it was a secret I kept for a long time. How was I to tell you, after all those years? I bound your powers when you were an infant, to protect you." She clasped her hands and looked down at them, gathering her thoughts. "I tried to tell you that day in the hospital . . . "

"When? When did you try?" Cassie asked, her voice sharper than she intended, but her emotions were getting the best of her. "When you were feeding me that line about having someone watch out for me when you're gone?"

"Well, actually, yes. And it looks like I was right, too." Catherine sighed. "Which one is your Whitelighter?"

"I am," Wyatt spoke up, taking a step forward. "I'm Wyatt, and this is my brother, Chris," he continued, pointing to his brother.

"Chris?" The woman tilted her head to the side, studying the young man. "The physics study partner?"

"Yes, ma'am." Chris looked down at his sneakers before raising his gaze to meet Cassie's mother, and offered her a small smile.

Catherine smiled in return. "Please don't call me ma'am. My mother was a ma'am." She directed her attention back to Wyatt. "Take care of my little girl for me, please. I'll be watching over her, but she'll need guidance."

"Of course," Wyatt replied.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room," Cassie said to her mother. "Mom . . . I need you," she said softly.

"My time has passed, Cassie, Dear. And now it's your time, to accept your new role and continue the family's legacy. The boys will help you," she said, nodding in the direction of the Halliwell brothers. "You can do this, Cassie," she encouraged her daughter. She offered her one last smile before disappearing. "Blessed be," she said, the candles flickering for a moment before extinguishing.

"Mom! Wait!" Cassie called out. But it was too late; her mother was gone. Again. Her arms dropped to her side, defeated. "I didn't even get to ask my questions," she mumbled.

Wyatt took a step closer to his charge. "Because you don't need her to answer them. You already have the answers, and you'll realize it in time," he explained. "It'll be okay," he reassured her. "_You'll_ be okay."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Cassie sighed. "So, what do we do now?" she asked.

"Now," Wyatt said, placing his arm around his charge's shoulder, "we have dessert." He steered her out of the attic and down the stairs.

Chris watched their retreating forms, smiling to himself. His brother really was a Whitelighter. Sure, he had a charge, but he had a lot of doubts over the last week, too. But he was going to be okay. Cassie, too. Like all things, it would take some time, but that was the Halliwell way. He closed the Book of Shadows, then gathered the candles and returned them to the trunk. Then he walked out of the attic. He was on the top of the stairs when he turned around, waved his hand, and closed the attic door.

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note:** We'll, that's it. Please submit a review to let me know what you thought of the story, and if it's worth expanding into a series. 


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